Deathspell - Ignore chapter headings
by Mizzy25
Summary: Witches and wizards once gathered in the woods of West Virginia to open the portal to a world of creatures both powerful and dangerous. In exchange for learning their magic, they provided information on the ways of human life. Falling in love with each other was forbidden. The rule was broken. Now orphan Crystal must pay the price.
1. Prologue

She arrived late noon, bringing with her a clash of thunder as lightening streaked the graying sky. It seemed the heavens were just as against her visit. Still, she was here and there was no turning back. Her fate was to unravel for a purpose. She was born with the mark of the stone. It was inevitable she would face the ensuing battle.

For the past five months I had been observing this girls confidence and sure footed stubbornness, proving it was the reason she was named after the stone for more than just holding its power. Only at times I could see that even a girl of such vast strength could hold an inner weakness. In crowded rooms she became quiet, anxious, refraining from social contact. I was eager to learn why.

The Cullen's gardener grabbed her luggage and carried it up the steps to the manor. There he paused and looked out beyond the driveway. Maybe he sensed me. Maybe he feared as much as I what was about to happen.


	2. 1:

1

I went to the kitchen alone as usual, lifting the hood of my black sweater as I walked over to the buffet table, steering clear of the hot cooked meals served by a scowling member of the morning staff. I wasn't hungry, but mealtimes here were compulsory, even if you were ill, dying, or had stomach cramps. If we ate out we had to keep the receipt to prove we'd digested something.

"We can't have you looking malnourished and uncared for," Bertha, our cook would say with one of her spontaneous chuckles. What she really meant was that we had to look healthy for potential parents. But I was past my sell-by date. I was leaving soon and I was in the middle of finding a cheap apartment.

I grabbed a bagel and a mini cheese spread and headed for a seat by the window. I would have eaten at the café around the corner, but we weren't allowed to venture into civilization until after ten a.m. We were supposed to mingle first. As for Cindelodge, it housed up to sixteen residents. With its boarding school feel, it was less accommodating than the others group homes I'd been subjected to in between foster placements.

I kept my head down and spread cheese on my onion bagel. The other nobodies whispered at the other end of the table. When I lifted my head to look about the room, I realized how many were around me, eleven at least, with the count increasing as more boys and girls filed in. My hands trembled at the sight of so many people. The thought of so many eyes on me made me nervous.

I knew what would happen if Jane decided to put all of her attention on me.

"The freako's rich."

As if conjured up by my thoughts, Jane stood staring down at me, her hands palms-down on the table. Her butt-length blonde locks and cherub features hid her inner ogress. Since no one wanted her either, she always boomeranged back into my life, nicknaming me "Freako," and repeating it to anyone who would listen. All because of a strange, diamond shaped birthmark on my chest.

There were others behind her—the usual gang of misfits she dragged around to make her feel special.

"Yeah. Turns out the weirdo has a rich great-aunt!" she spat.

"That's enough," Bertha said. "Off you get. Scat."

They shuffled away. Jane never took her eyes off me. Something told me she wasn't going to let it go that easily. Maybe this time she would beat me unconscious. But what was she even talking about? Great aunt?

"You okay there, Sweety?" Bertha asked as I shakily spread more cheese on my bagel.

"Sure, B …" I managed as I kept my head down again. The whispers grew louder and echoed around me. There was some laughing too, mainly from Jane and the new girl from New Jersey.

"Freakoooooo!" Someone cackled.

"I came over for another reason." Bertha said, pity oozing from her voice. "Mrs Bingley wants to see you in her office."

"Now?"

"It's rare she calls anyone in this time of the day, I know, but it seems serious."

I put down my bagel and got up. It wasn't as if the day could get any worse.

Although Mrs. Bingley was head of social services, it wasn't on account of her charm or any extraordinary maternal instinct. It was because her father founded the institute. It was the reason she thought it gave her the right to be a Queen Bee around here all the time.

"Isabella," she bellowed when I knocked.

I bit back my need to yell, _Bella,_ the name I went by instead, and replied, "Yes," as I stepped inside. The office, as always, smelled of leather upholstery and cigar smoke that must have seeped into the wood paneled walls. It was grander than the rest of the home, with an oak floor polished so many times over the years the wood grains were no longer visible. Behind the massive desk hung a life-sized portrait of her father sat on what looked like a throne.

Sat on the edge of her desk, she did me the kindness of obscuring the horrible painting, and peered down at me through half-moon glasses as though I was an insipid thing.

"Take a seat, Isabella."

I complied, reminding myself that in four or so months I would be free from her controlling. She slipped off her glasses and took out a tiny cloth from her pant pocket to polish the lenses as though she had forgotten all about me already. I knew it was just her way of reminding me who was in charge.

"Is there something you need to tell me, Mrs. Bingley?" I asked, hiding my irritation.

She ignored me, determined to make me feel less than human. It seemed as if she didn't have a heart that beat beneath her grayish, speckled skin. Her golf fanatic husband must have regretted marrying the wench. He was the complete opposite, playful and eager to make me smile, which only made Mrs. Bingley even more sour faced.

I looked bravely at my watch to show my impatience. At last she replaced her glasses on the tip of her pointy nose and leaned forward. I didn't like the look in her beady eyes one bit. "Did you know you have a great aunt?" She folded her arms and leaned back to gauge my reaction.

Was this everyone's idea of a parting joke?

She raised her silvery eyebrows. "A friend of hers from Utah saw a picture of you in the Deseret News. It must have been the article about the bookstore where you work. It looks like this relative of yours is coming to see you."

Anyone else would have been pleased to tell me the news. But I didn't believe a word of it. Sure, my picture had been in the paper when the store where I worked part-time received some award for staying open since 1865. But when my parents and then the only available next of kin they left me with, died too, they hadn't been able to trace any other family, and I doubted I had any.

Mrs. Bingley smirked, clearly amused, or maybe just convinced I was falling for the heartless lie.

"I need to get to work," I muttered.

"Don't you want to hear the rest?"

"Not really. May I be excused?"

She was on the other side of her desk in a flash, reading from an open book. "Mrs. Carmen Cullen. Widow of your late Great Uncle, Mr. Theodore Cullen."

I opened my mouth to speak, but she continued.

"Theodore was your grandfather, William's, stepbrother, which means she is of no actual relation." The last part pleased her. "Still, she claims to have been a close friend of your mother's." With a sigh, she slammed the book closed.

My mouth turned dry, a pulse in my neck throbbed. "M-m …This …I…Tha…I…

"Enough blubbering, Isabella."

_Bella_, I screamed in my head.

"Since you're leaving here in four months—or when you find suitable accommodation," she added, sounding bored with the topic, "—you may as well talk to the woman."

"But—"

"The meeting will take place in my office of course, under supervision."

My chest hurt. I couldn't respond or blink.

"That will be all," she said, dismissing me as though it had been the most mundane of interviews.

I stood, dazed and confused; a million thoughts became jumbled in my head.

"By the way," she added, when I'd finally reached the door. "She wants to take you back to West Virginia. Your family home."

"H-Home?"

"Thorncrest Manor," she practically snarled. "She'll be here to see you in two days."

I went to my room with no thoughts of my past or tomorrow, nothing except the name Carmen Cullen repeating in my mind.


	3. Ch:2

Although I was supposed to be at work in two hours, I wanted to pretend to be sick and convince Mrs. Bingley that I should stay in bed for the rest of the cold season. What she'd told me earlier had left me still trying to digest it.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Ellie, my roommate groaned in her sleep, so I hurried across the room to answer it. Only I wished that I hadn't.

"Good. You're still here."

"Yes, I'm just getting ready for work."

"Is Ellie still in bed?" She peered behind me. With a clap of her hands, she yelled. "Up this instant Ellie. I will not tell you again."

Ellie fell out of bed and peered up from under her frizzy bangs.

"I was hoping we could talk alone in your room for a moment," Mrs. Bingley said to me. "Never mind. You may as well come straight to my office." She walked away and I obediently followed, listening to her heels tap hard even along the carpeted floor.

When we reached her office she turned and said, "Your aunt's here sooner than expected. Now, I won't be coming in with you. I think it would be best if you go ahead alone." She thought for a moment. "Yes, I think that would be appropriate given the circumstances. Besides, I have too much to be getting on with to be chaperoning you all morning." She stalked down the hall.

I remained outside for a few minutes, trying to prepare myself. I thought I had two days to face this. I turned the door handle with sweaty palms and pushed open the door. Inside a woman was sitting in front of the desk, her back to me as she quietly sobbed. I closed the door behind me and stepped inside. The woman didn't turn. Her sobbing just grew louder, her head bobbing up and down.

"Hello," I said kind of spooked. "Uh...are you waiting for me?"

There was a gasp. The nodding continued, only more frantic. When it stopped abruptly, she blew her nose with a tissue then straightened and said, "Isabella? Isabella? Is that you?"

"Yes, but I…prefer Bella."

The woman rose onto very expensive red stilettos. Her black and white pantsuit was a Prada original. I could tell. I was a fashion-obsessed freak.

She finally faced me and I was taken aback by her beauty, even with mascara running down her ash white cheeks and red lipstick smudged across her face. Her hair was darker than mine and coiled neatly into a chignon. She looked like Snow White's mother, distressed and trembling, but mesmerizing all the same.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

She took a step forward and reached out her hand to me, only to withdraw it. "You really have grown into a beautiful young woman."

I was going to say you too, but she hurried on, "I'm Carmen Cullen. I knew your parents, your mother in particular…Rene."

"I..."

"Sit with me Bella. Please." I walked over to the chair she pointed at, dazed and confused as I flopped into it. Up so close, I could see her skin was as smooth as marble, ivory white and colorless. Her deep brown eyes had a peculiar tinge of blue around the pupils. Her teeth chattered as if she was cold.

"So you knew them well?" I asked after who knew how long.

"Yes. I understand this must be a shock. Believe me this is hard for me too. But I had to come and see you right away. You see a few friends of mine saw a newspaper article in the _Deseret News_. A promotional advertisement for a bookstore named The Kove. I assume that is where you work?"

I couldn't seem to respond.

"Anyway they knew your parents too…well, briefly. You looked so much like Rene, it was plain to see you were hers."

There was an awkward silence. Carmen looked everywhere but at my face. "Your colleague…Mark."

"Mike," I managed.

"Mike was kind enough to tell me where you lived. He also made me aware of something else." Carmen picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. "He claims your surname is Valdez."

I wanted to leave the room before she could finish what she had to say.

"Which is ludicrous since your father was a Swan."

Blood rushed to my head and made me dizzy.

"Oh dear." Gasped Carmen. "You're perspiring." She handed me her handkerchief, concern creasing her once-perfect forehead. I somehow grabbed the handkerchief and dabbed my face with it, all the while inhaling a delicate scent of coconut. It soothed a wave of nausea and a tightening in my chest.

"Tell me more," I stuttered, still seeing specks of red.

"Would you like to take a moment?"

I shook my head, certain I couldn't wait any longer. Breathing in and out slowly, my heart rate returned to normal. Carmen's face became less blurry.

"I'm afraid your parents changed their names. They didn't wish to be found. Drastic measures must have been taken by the time you were born. You see, Rene had a falling out with her father, and I…" She bit her lip. "I married his stepbrother, Theodore."

"And?"

"I was nineteen and he was sixty-one at the time of our marriage." Carmen lowered her head. "Let's just say it wasn't easy trying to find you. I hadn't a name or a photograph, only a photograph of Rene which I passed around from state to state."

Someone had been searching for me? I found it hard to believe.

"So neither of my parents ever got in touch with you after they ran away? The thought reopened a raw mental wound. I didn't want to think of my mother as being disloyal as my once best friend, Jess. Ever since she'd moved away with her husband, Daniel, I barely received a phone call.

"So, Mrs. Bingley tells me your mother and father were in a car accident?"

"That's right."

She tucked her handkerchief into her jacket pocket then pulled out a tissue from her sleeve. I watched her weep into it, fidgeting in my seat. I wondered if I should comfort her or give her some space. Thankfully it didn't take long for her to resume the conversation.

"I hope in time you will agree to come and visit Thorncrest."

"Excuse me?"

"Thorncrest Manor. It is your ancestral home after all."

_A manor? _

"Where exactly?"

"Blacksville, West Virginia."

I'd never heard of it. "Is it a small town?"

"Yes, very much so."

A manor sounded extravagant and far from my meager life. Was all that about to change? Was I going to have a family? My heart thumped, maybe with a little excitement this time.

"So was my mother rich?"

"Rene came from privileges, yes."

"Privileges?"

"Rene would have inherited Thorncrest, but she chose your father Charlie instead. Rene's father despised him, and so he changed his will before his death."

"So there isn't anyone else, no other siblings I should know about?"

"I'm afraid not. Your files are correct in that respect."

"How did my grandfather die?"

"Old age. Nothing else could have taken such an abrasive man."

"And his wife?"

"Your grandmother, Helen, coincidentally, died in a car accident, too." She frowned, hurrying on. "You see, the aunt your parents left you with was Helen's daughter from a previous relationship. I think he was her first love who died rather young. The family had been unaware that Helen had given up a child for adoption. It seems the only person she confided in was Rene. Your mother must have located Lorraine on her own."

"There's so much I don't know." I gulped. It was hard to believe moments ago, walking ten yards to the bus stop in the drizzling snow was my only problem.

"You will learn plenty in time."

Carmen sounded adamant. But I wasn't sure what to believe. Spending too many years fending for myself in foster care and homes made me pretty cynical, defensive and hard to reach. Yet the more I talked to Carmen the more I felt that side of me changing.

She reached out and held my face. I flinched, but she didn't seem to care. "You know, you have Rene's eyes and lips. Charlie's nose. Your father had a good nose." She smiled sadly, as if the realization made her pity me all the more. "You truly have grown into a beautiful young woman."

"Thanks." I eased away from her grasp.

The previous sparkle in her eyes vanished. Guilt had me wondering if I should play along. But the gestures were sickly sweet, and Carmen was still a stranger to me, no matter who she was to my mother.

"Let's get back to your aunt Lorraine," said Carmen. "How did this…fire at your aunt's begin?"

"I'm not sure."

Carmen leaned forward, placing her hand over mine and I allowed it. Her hand felt warm against my freezing one. "Who rescued you?"

"Firefighters, I guess."

"Have they been good to you here?"

"I suppose so." They hadn't loved me if that's what she meant. There were too many of us for that kind of treatment.

"When were you planning to leave?"

"I have a few months to find accommodation."

"I presume you will be renting an apartment?"

"Yes."

"Alone?"

I'd never met someone so direct. "No. I would find a roommate."

"That's a relief, but will you be able to cover costs? Rent?"

I chewed on my lip. My guilt for accepting an offer I couldn't refuse returned fresh to my conscience. "My boss has offered to help."

She raised a perfectly plucked brow. "Oh?"

"He wants to give me a bonus...a loan really, that I plan to pay back as soon as I graduate and find work." It all spilled out of me at once.

"That's very kind of him."

"We've become close over the last few years. He sees me as the daughter he never had," I explained before she came up with her own conclusion.

She smiled, relief written all over her face. "Then I'm pleased you found one another. Are you in college?"

"I'm studying fashion." I was proud to say it. I knew it was an achievement for an orphan to get so far.

"Ah," she gushed. "You look the artsy type. Your mother would have been delighted. She was quite a skilled painter."

"She was?"

"Yes, like you, she also took great pride in her appearance." Carmen pointed to my precious Pandora bracelet. The one recent extravagance that I'd accepted from Billy over Christmas. But I felt plain next to Carmen. It would have taken more than a Gap sweater and faded old Helmut Lang boots to live up to her Jimmy Choo and Prada ensemble. Even my much loved Givenchy shrug would have looked more like a threadbare rug beside her high-gloss chic.

"Which college do you attend?"

"I've been at Westminster. I wanted to stay in Utah. How about you?" I asked, wanting to prove I was interested. "You seem well…educated."

She laughed, throwing her head back slightly. The movement only enhanced her elegance and beauty. "Oh don't be fooled. My looks are deceiving. In reality, I'm a middle-class college dropout. I took elocution lessons and even classes in etiquette, determined to fit into my surroundings at Thorncrest. I proudly did well for a time, until I began to feel outside of myself, changed, and unrecognizable. For that reason, we left Thorncrest and moved to Michigan. We had lived there for a few years, but the children and I returned to Blacksville after Theodore's death." There was a long silence.

"I'm sorry," I offered, realizing it must have been expected of me.

She opened her eyes with fresh tears. "It was a heart attack. I decided I owed it to Theodore to make Thorncrest our home again. It has been three years since our return, and I think the house has grown to like me. The children, however, still complain of its cold, damp interior, though I think of it as lived in, old, and full of history much like myself."

Carmen didn't look a day over thirty. Yet I knew she had to be at least fifty. With her wealth, she probably used some type of anti-aging cream or had had a major facelift. I looked for the tell-tale signs but found nothing.

"How many children do you have?" Her eyes lit up at the question, just as I knew they would.

"Emmett is my eldest. He will be twenty-one in July. Edward has recently turned nineteen and Bree…" She beamed, "is an adorable fifteen."

"Sounds like you have your hands full."

"Indeed, but they are good children at heart."

For some reason, my thoughts lingered on the name Edward, perhaps because it sounded the most interesting and powerful. I imagined his face, every contour down to the curl of his lips. I sensed he had Carmen's dark hair and porcelain skin. I could almost see him in my mind's eye, distant, but coming into focus. He was similar to a hand grasping me from within a thick, dark fog or a dream I had long forgotten. I shook my head to clear the strange vision. Goosebumps prickled my arms as I forced the image away.

"You shall meet them very soon if you accept my invitation to Thorncrest."

My ease vanished. "But I barely know you, and I haven't seen any proof."

She rummaged through her purse and pulled out a photograph.

"This is one of a few I have of your parents. Rene took most of them away with her." She handed me the photo my fingers itched to grasp. I gazed down at my mother smiling in the arms of a young and equally happy man. It was true. I did look like her. I could see how Carmen's friend had recognized me. And I really did have my father's nose. I had further proof I was theirs, and that warmed me in a place that had become bitter and rotten with thoughts of what could have been.

"Can I keep this?" I asked, tears pricking my eyes.

"Of course." Carmen leaned forward and fingered a wave of my hair. I needed the motherly kindness. Something that maybe only Carmen could give me.

"I plan to stay at a hotel nearby for as long as I can, Bella. I'll be returning often, so you will have plenty of time to get to know me."

"You will?"

"I hope your surprise is in favor of my suggestion, not against it." She chuckled.

"It is. I mean, it's in favor. It would be great to hear more about my parents, and more about you too obviously."

Carmen grinned at my blubbering. "Then that settles it." She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. "I am here for you now, Bella. I always will be."

"I know," I found myself saying, a smile becoming fixed on my face.

This was happening.

The Cullens were family.


	4. Ch:3

Five months later

The city once known as the 'Old Dominion,' passed by me as open fields and fragile barns. The sun beamed a vibrant orange rather than the softer yellow I'd left behind six hours ago.

I guess it didn't look too different than Salt Lake City. If I looked close enough it was just as mountainous as the acclaimed twin peaks of the Wasatch Front or Oquirrh. But I was missing home already. It seemed as if it never existed. I was beginning to think the buzz of Temple Square and the distant flow of the Meridian was all imagined and I was back in real-time.

"So how is the new apartment? Have you settled in yet?" asked Carmen.

"Everything's running smoothly so far. My roommate's chatty."

"I'm sure it must be wonderful to have a place of your own."

"It is. Thanks Carmen. If you hadn't have helped, it might have taken me longer to escape the home."

She smiled. "And how about the book store?

"Billy has Mike and the books aren't exactly selling like hotcakes since the winter sale."

"A book store? That sounds interesting," said Carlise, turning from the front seat of the Lincoln. He was the Cullen's gardener. It was the first time I'd heard him speak. "Are you an avid reader?"

"Avid might be an overstatement, though I do have every classical literature. Maybe even every modern piece worth the time."

He smiled at my admission, as if silently telling me he was impressed.

"We have plenty of books in the study," interrupted Carmen with a slight hitch in her voice. "You may find something to your liking."

"That would be nice." I smiled genuinely for the first time. Carmen looked elated by it

"Do you study?" asked Carlise next, much to Carmen's disapproval.

"Yes, I want to be a fashion designer."

He raised his brows then chuckled as if it made him happy.

It made me eager to say more. "I'm hoping to open my own store someday." I felt my lips stretch with a smile more than they probably should have. For some reason I reacted in a positive way to him, oblivious to anything else, even Carmen's grimace.

Carmen touched the fabric of my top. "You have great taste. I knew the moment I saw you that you had a creative streak in your heart. So did…" Her smile faltered, just like it always did when she was about to mention my mother.

The conversation faded. I took that as my chance to take a look at the town we'd entered. The streets became empty of anything remotely lived in or recently touched. They were so eerily quiet it was as if the wind whistled through a boatswain pipe.

"Blacksville is an incorporated town in Monongalia County with a population of 175." Carmen said as if to explain the strange silence. "We're in Shenandoah Valley which is a few miles from the larger city of Winchester."

I could see for myself it was a typical small town; even the stores were different, decorated with a facade of eighteenth-century signs. The houses were simple and small, close-set and with doors and shutters painted bright green, red, blue, or yellow. Groups of mostly the elderly sat on the sidewalks or verandas rocking in their chairs, knitting or reading a tattered book, occasionally lifting their heads to watch children play hopscotch or skip with a never-ending piece of rope.

As we reached a turning point, the trail became less bumpy, leading us onto an expanse of pebbles that crushed noisily beneath the wheels. A paved slope named Berry Hill led to wrought-iron gates entwined with shrivelled up ivy; a mist rose from nowhere, clinging to the windows as if the large estate was letting off steam. Overgrown shrubs and flower beds peaked through the haze, sometimes with a flutter of wings that must have belonged to a murder of crows judging by the constant cawing that was starting to give me the shivers.

Then I saw it. Thorncrest Manor. Its long, arched windows and dark gray stone reminded me of papier-mâché from the distance. The rest was a blend of leaning turrets, chipped rooftops, and twisted spires. At two stories high, and the length of three stately homes, it was a cross between a giant piece of burnt Lego and a mutating castle. It was no wonder my mother ran away from the place.

Carlise helped us both out before grabbing my rolling suitcase from the trunk. The mist cleared a little and I could see a boreal forest beyond the estate and hear the sound of a lake travelling to the back of the house. Carmen took my hand and guided me to the stone steps, perhaps sensing I needed help moving.

She opened the door and it creaked open. The cavernous hallway was just as quiet as the town, the air somehow colder, like the inside of a refrigerator. I shivered in my thin cardigan. I was only wearing a halter neck and jeggings.

Ahead a walnut brown staircase curved up to what I imagined would be extravagant bedrooms. To the left, a tall grandfather clock ticked loudly, and opposite that was a painting of a plump-faced woman wearing a black veil. I shivered, not because it was cold this time, but because I felt watched.

There was a pat to my back. I turned, but no-one was there, just the closed door.

_"_You two go ahead_,"_ Carlise said, making me jump. "I'll take Bella's things to her room." He climbed the stairs with my luggage with little effort. Carmen led the way to a closed-door at the end of the hall. The same unwelcome feeling invaded me; the walls seemed to narrow in.

_It's just an old house. They all look haunted._

We entered a study and I could see the expanse of it and the shelves lined with hundreds of books. The floor gleamed like honey.

"Oh, I always presumed they were your ancestors," Carmen said when she noticed me gawking at the portrait above the fireplace, then lit a fireplace with a long match. "Make yourself at home, Bella. It can get a little chilly in here. Esme, our housekeeper, can prepare us some drinks. How does hot cocoa sound?"

"Great. Thanks."

I sat in a chair that was probably as ancient as the house, realizing my mother could have sat in the same place countless times before I was even born. The thought made me relax.

Carmen stoked the hearth behind the grate with a cane, flicking away tendrils of her raven black hair that had fallen out of her usual chignon. Seeing as though I studied fashion and wanted to design my own clothes someday, I re-analyzed her outfit, deciding that the tweed pantsuit lengthened her lean physique, but was too pale against her milky white skin. Either way, it gave her an air of added sophistication, allowing it to compliment that somehow youthful look that must have been from using a renowned wrinkle cream or Botox.

She finally settled into a chair opposite me. "The children should be here soon. Are you warming up, dear?"

I nodded with a smile, though being reminded of her children stiffened my shoulders. So far, I knew Bree enjoyed playing the piano and violin. Edward aspired to be an architect and Emmett hoped to be a lawyer.

Although we weren't blood-related, I was counting on becoming maybe pseudo-siblings. I think I needed that type of bond. Although my ex-best friend had felt like a sister, and Jared was more like a father than my boss, it wasn't the same. I needed someone else I could confide in.

Thunder boomed and made me flinch. Carmen had moved to stand by the window.

Was West Virginia known for grim weather in May? An uneasiness settled in on me as the room grew too dark.

"Your mother loved thunderstorms." Carmen chuckled, unaffected by the strange charge in the air. I couldn't say the same. I felt to blame for the change in weather. It was as if Blacksville resented my arrival. I got up warily and joined her.

"She would even stand in them. Spread out her arms as if she wanted to be struck down or perhaps transported to another world." Her smile didn't reach her eyes now pooling with tears. My gut wrenched. I was never any good at consoling.

"Everything will be fine now that you're here," she said, taking my hand. "I'm sorry I let you both down. Perhaps now that I've found you and you're here, your mother's soul can finally rest."

I placed my hand on her shoulder. It was the best I could do. "As far as I'm concerned there's nothing to forgive."

She smiled, seeming satisfied with my reply.

"But...um...are you sure there's nothing more you need to tell me, Carmen?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well you've explained why they changed my surname from Swan to Valdez to keep my mother's controlling father away, but it seems a bit much. I just can't help wonder if there was something more sinister behind it, such as my parents being on the run or something. You always seem so afraid of going into detail. I just thought I should admit how I've been feeling about your reluctance to talk about them."

She took my hand. "As you know your mother was against my marriage to her step-uncle. There was a very big age gap. Back then it was very frowned upon in general."

"I know, but it still doesn't explain why they would take drastic measures not to be found for a reason like that. I mean, if I hadn't have resembled my mother, you wouldn't have recognized me in the article promoting where I worked, would you?"

She nodded.

"And I would have gone through life never knowing you existed or even cared enough to have been looking for her all these years. I would have stayed alone, questioning where I was from. Why would Mom and Dad do that to me over an age gap marriage?"

"You're right of course. You're too intelligent like your mother to give in to what you're told. There is more, Bella. I wouldn't say it is sinister, but...I will need more time to discuss it in grave detail. I do hope you will continue to understand."

Thunder boomed again but I didn't flinch. Strangely I wasn't afraid anymore, just determined to see this through.

"How much longer will I have to wait, though? You've been visiting me for months and saying the same thing each time."

"Soon." Her lips quivered.

"As in?"

"In a few days. I will. Believe me. A few more days are all I need. It's not sinister, just... complicated. I need to figure out how to explain."

I sighed. "You can have a few more days to decide. But it's been dragged on for too long already."

"I know." She croaked.

"I came here to make you fess up and tell me everything."

"And you will. You have my word."

We both looked out at the storm.

"Darling, I'm aware of how hard it must have been to come here alone. You'll be taken care of. I want you to feel assured of that." She clasped my hand.

"What did I have to lose?"

"Oh, plenty."

Unease crept over me again.

"But give it time, Bella, together we can work through talking about Alex and Sophia a lot more thoroughly."

"If you think that's best."

Thunder boomed. I really hoped it wasn't a bad omen.


	5. Chapter 5-

Chapter Two

The stormed eased up an hour ago. Sunlight poured in from the large window of the drawing room, glinting on the glass cabinets filled with porcelain figurines and hand painted china. The furniture was more modern than the rest of the house, with camel brown plush sofas, simple cream white cabinets and mint green curtains. Carmen had given me a small tour around the house before leaving to run an errand.

I was in the middle of prodding the keys on the grand piano, when something rustled behind me. I turned to find a boy about my age, bee lining for the doorway. Edward Cullen. I recalled his face from the many photos Carmen had shown me of the family.

He paused and slowly turned to face me, placing one hand in his jean pocket while scratching the side of his mouth, maybe contemplating something amusing judging by the slight curve of his lips. I couldn't see much more than that. His hair hung over his eyes.

I inched closer, but he stepped back, lifting rich brown eyes to mine. His brow furrowed as if warning me not to take another step. When I offered a jittering smile, his expression softened, making it was easier for me to breathe as I focused on the rest of him, his tanned skin, high cheekbones and a small scar on his upper lip. He was wearing a hooded leather jacket over gray jeans and black boots. His build was slight, but clearly muscular beneath his thin white shirt. Handsome was a huge understatement, and his photos hadn't done him justice.

His lips parted as if to speak, only someone giggled and diverted his attention.

I was leapt on as arms wrapped around my neck.

"You're here," a girl squealed.

I gazed around the room, but Edward had left.

"I'm Bree," said a short, plump girl as she finally loosened her grip. "Edward," she yelled with a pout. "Edward, bring in my violin from the car!"

Why hadn't he said anything?

I plastered a smile on my face as Bre eled me to the couch to sit and talk about her violin lesson. Edward's name cropped up again and my ears pricked. "He hates taking me." She groaned. "He'd rather be with Rosalie."

I wondered who she could be, then why I cared. Instead, I tried to listen to Bree prattle on about her cute violin teacher.

"What were you and Edward talking about?" It could have been her very nasal voice and the puppy fat cheeks, but she seemed younger than fifteen. Her white summer dress with daisies around the neckline was pretty but too tight around the waist. Her feet were pressed into pink jellybean sandals.

"Really? He was looking forward to seeing you."

"He was?" My eyes bulged and made her laugh.

"He wanted to meet one of father's relatives. Mother wouldn't show us any photos of you. She wanted it to be a surprise. She's right. You're so pretty!"

"So...that's why he looked tongue tied just now? Because I'm related to Great Uncle Theodore?"

"Well it won't be because of how you look will it?"

"Huh?"

"It's not like he hasn't see a pretty face before. He's always surrounded by girls like you."

I found myself prying.

"But Rosalie's his favourite?"

She shrugged. "For now."

I shrugged too.

I came here to learn more about my parents, not ask questions about guys like him. Thankfully, Bree didn't bring him up again and happily filled me in on the rest of her day.


	6. Chapter 6-

Birthspell is now published on Amazon and is priced 0.99.

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3

I woke with a jolt. Something had blown like a horn in my ears. The sound of running water was coming from the bathroom. The light inside flickered, creating dancing shadows over the pink powdery walls.

Someone was in my room. I must have forgotten to lock the door like an idiot. I berated myself for being so careless, catching my breath and kicking at the sheets to get out of bed. It didn't take long to come across something wet along my travels in the dark munitions of my room.

I peered closer and found footprints from the bathroom to the end of my bed, as if someone had been standing there, watching me sleep. I tried not to panic and kept moving.

The door to my room creaked open, revealing the blackness of the hallway. Edward's door was closed and most likely bolted. I had to fight the urge to wake him—if he was even inside—if he would even answer me.

I had to know who the footprints belonged to. I couldn't just climb back into bed without checking. The water prints looked like they belonged to a male; they were long, broad with large droplets for toes. Maybe Emmett and Bree were playing a prank on me.

I charged into the bathroom, only to slip and fall onto the wet tiles with a dense thud.

I was lying in a pool of water soaking into my nightshirt. Water poured from the faucet at the sink, spilling from the sides like a waterfall cascading down to the baby blue tiles. It was shallow, but steadily making its way to the doorway and ebbing into the floorboards of my room. I made my way to the sink to pull the chain, listening to the water gurgle down the pipe to steady by heartbeat.

As I looked in the mirror on the medicine cabinet, a tall shadow scurried behind me.

I tried to scream but couldn't.

A push to my back was similar to being patted, but too vigorous. Invisible hands brushed away the sides of my hair, gently, but with unkindness I could detect. I still couldn't open my mouth to speak, scream, or cry for help. I stayed planted against the sink, rigorous and chilled to the bone, trying to locate a muscle that could pull me away from the sliver of fingers tracking a line from the pith of my spine to the top of my neck. I couldn't even turn my head away from the clouding mirror. There was no reflection. No way to see myself soundlessly crying.

Only my eyes darted around as far as they could to search the bathroom. When I began to convulse, my hands finally lost their grip on the sink. My stomach swelled as if I was becoming pregnant.

"Get out," cried a female voice. "Get out! Get OUT!"

Deep red blood shot out from the sink and hit me in the chest.

I flew across room and landed with a deafening crack against the bathtub.

I yelped as water splashed face.

"Drink this," someone muttered, placing a glass to my lips. I took large gulps, trying not to vomit.

When I'd had enough, I leaned back against the bathtub. My heavy breaths were the only sign that time was passing without my real acceptance of it.

"Can you speak?" The voice was husk, drowsy with disrupted sleep. It was a voice I instantly recognized.

My heart rose to my throat and beat fast. I tried my damnedest not to let it. Barefoot and shirtless with gray sweatpants soaked from the bottom was Edward. I blinked a few times to clear my head from the confusion of being distracted by Edward so easily, even in this state.

"I'm not sure." I clenched shyly at the wet fabric of my nightshirt, hiding my exposed underwear as I groped at my stomach. It was flat and unmoving, allowing me to release my clenched hands and the painful shake of my shoulders.

He looked at me pre-eminently as he lifted one hand and held up a piece of tissue. "Here, dry off your face." The offer was blunt and uncaring, but I took it anyway and rubbed at my face, all the while suppressing the need to convey the tones of his deeply attuning voice. I had longed to hear it again, see beyond the gray metal plates that seemed to have moulded around his pupils. Obviously, I must have been imagining it.

As always he broke the hold, almost sheepishly, breathing in through his nose then out through his lips. I watched as if it was the most unusual thing to witness, wishing I knew what he was thinking so I that I could understand his need to be so distant.

When he looked at me, it wasn't directly. His gaze was somewhere in between my eyes

"Can you stand?" he asked, neutral in tone.

I just glared, unable to speak.

"Now?" he asked, rubbing at his face.

"Give me five," I said through gritted teeth.

He stood and turned the faucets at the sink, something I felt sure I did only minutes ago. He leaned back against it and waited. I wasn't sure for what. A bedtime story?

"You can leave now." I wasn't ready to be alone, but I didn't want to be monitored by him either. I didn't want to see his six-pack or exposed boxers, see his arms folded over his bare chest so that they expanded like mounds of tough skin, see the way he could never quite look at me.

"Will you be making a habit of this?" he asked in his mastered uncaring tone.

"I don't know." I scowled. "I'll have to check my schedule."

"I won't stand for being disturbed this late. You're lucky no one else heard you mumbling to yourself."

"That's what you heard? Mumbling?"

He shrugged. "It's up to you what you do with your own time." He peered around. "You should try turning the faucets off next time you sleep walk."

His extreme good looks were losing their appeal. Even his voice was losing the seductive edge. He complained too much. Standing in front of me was an ass as inconvenient as the water around me.

"You could move rooms," I snapped. "There's plenty to choose from."

He turned to leave. He was a coward too.

"I didn't wake you on purpose, Ed." I realized too late that I'd called him by the dreaded wrong name. I tensed, unprepared for an explosion.

He stopped in his tracks and looked to the side of him. I tried not to admire how his back muscles flexed and curved inwards between his shoulders.

"Edward," he said somewhat calmly. "It's _Edward_."

As soon as Edward left, the memory of what happened returned just as fresh for me to recall it like a strange state of limbo. As if I'd been in a dream, but somehow awake, running, but at the speed of a stroll.

I quickly changed into a dry shirt and layered up again since the cold draft had returned, then sat up in bed and kept the bedside lamp switched on while I clutched my cell phone that had Jared's number on the screen, ready to call if I plunged into another preternatural world where I was invaded by an invisible presence.

Although my stomach was bloated, it wasn't ballooning like it had a few minutes ago. It just churned because of indigestion, not the feeling that a livid organism was inside.

Thinking back, though, it had been a fictive feeling, as if it had been happening to someone else and I had been a spectator at close range. It didn't completely embed itself to my membrane.

The woman who screamed had been different; her voice adamant and shrill, but also apprehensive, unable to make a choice between right and wrong. Her presence was weaker than the other. She was unable to reach me at first. I sensed she couldn't fight an avenging pull. And when I hit the bathtub, I felt her hands on my feet, tugging as she screamed my name; screamed like she knew me, knew I was coming here all along. I had a feeling it was Arrious, the name uttered through the green door. A door restricted and kept apart from the rest of the Manor.

What was inside? Was Isobel keeping a secret like Jared suspected? Did she keep the door closed for a reason?

I had to speak to her, make her tell me or break the door down myself.

As for my stomach, I didn't know why it swelled as if I was becoming pregnant.

Was it a premonition? A metaphor for something? Growth? Change? Something new to enter my life?

I had a feeling it wasn't. I just wanted to devise another theory and consider it being something other than a bad omen.

I didn't want to have to think about pregnancies again. I didn't want to be reminded of a moment in my past that would always haunt me.


	7. Chapter 7-

4

When the long case clock on top of the stairs chimed six, I made my way to the dining room to find everyone except Edward gathered around the long table. Family dinners were necessary; the Locke's considered them as important as Christmas and Thanksgiving. I never had either with real family, so couldn't wait to join in.

The blazing fireplace tinged the room with an amber glow. The ceiling was a creamy white like the drawing room; the lit candles on the large chandelier had a dreamy effect on the walnut wood paneled walls. It was as if I was stepping back in time again.

Carmen sat at the head of the table. I took a seat next to Bree since Emmett who grunted as a way of hello, sat opposite from her. He was taller than Edward and not as handsome, wider too, with thick, sandy brown hair, beady eyes, and a slightly crooked nose.

The chair in front of me remained empty. The reasons why began to gnaw at me. No one else seemed to care or notice Edward was absent considering this m

eal time was important.

Esme was filling my plate with poached chicken and pinto beans with some kind of green sauce when Bree shrieked, "Your ring," to make me jump. She grabbed a hold of my hand.

"Oh, it wa my Aunt Lorraine's," I explained.

Carmen stopped fussing with her cutlery to take a look too. Emmett continued eating.

"It was found on a necklace around my neck," I said to Bree. "It's the only thing I had with me after the fire."

I suppose there were lots of reasons why I might have decided to wear it - in memory, to feel closer to my aunt at a time when I needed her most, or just to be able to fit in with the rare sophistication of my dinner companions. Yet somehow, saying those words out loud made me sound more pathetic than I thought.

"It's a stunning piece," Carmen remarked before busying herself with her silverware.

"Is it real?" Bree asked.

"It's twenty-karat gold. I'm not sure if the rubies are real."

She scrunched up her nose and slurped on her apple juice. Unimpressed.

I turned my focus elsewhere too. There were things I needed to ask Carmen, things that back home had felt rude to broach. "Carmen how was it that Grandfather—William—came into so much money?"

"He came from a line of successful bankers," she answered, rubbing her knife with a napkin vigorously, even checking her reflection in it.

"So it wasn't from farming the land?" I asked, disappointed it was something as boring as finance.

"Do you mean slaveholding?" Bree retorted.

"What else?" Emmett said with a grunt.

"No, Thorncrest was never a plantation," Carmen answered.

The room fell silent. I swallowed any further questions that were niggling at me and began to eat. Talking was probably frowned upon at meal times.

"You might have something in common with Edward," said moments later, contradicting that thought.

"Really? Like what?" I helped myself to another slice of fish and a spoonful of mashed potatoes.

"He's an art student like you." She chomped.

"What type of art?" My attention was now more on the conversation than the food. If Edward was the only person around my age I was to have something in common with, it had to be a bonus to my trip.

"Architecture, as you are aware," Carmen answered. "As well as a variety of other things," she added less approvingly.

I wondered what the other things could be for her not to have told me.

"He's studying to be an actor," Bree confided.

Carmen winced as if revolted. Either that or she had swallowed a fish bone. "He has many other talents," Carmen concurred.

"Has he performed anywhere yet?" I asked.

I could hear Emmett grit his teeth to have to bear my idle comments.

"Not yet," Bree said with a giggle. "He has to get into practice first. Then he'll be in movie theaters all over the world."

Bree was obviously supportive. Maybe even a little deluded. Still, I found myself recalling his face, every detail of him down to the muscles in his fingers. I had to admit it wasn't the first time. It was automatic. He had a presence even when he was absent. Every time his name was uttered, I got a mental shake. It was strange and unnerving.

I noticed everyone staring at me.

"You can ask him more yourself," Carmen offered. "I'm sure he will be delighted."

Just then Edward strode towards the dinner table fluidly and took a seat opposite me, beside Emmett.

Carmen turned from her flower arranging and said, "Ah. Edward, this here is Bella."

He gave me no more than a noncommittal nod as he grabbed a red apple from the table and bit into it like he was famished. Carmen glared at him, but he chomped away regardless. His longish black hair was tied back into the shortest ponytail, waves of it had come lose and fell over his long eyelashes. His skin was slightly tanned, but I could tell he was probably as white as snow in the wintertime. But it was as flawless as his mother's, and now slightly pinking at the cheeks. His deep-seated frown only heighted his Calvin Klein model looks. He looked nothing like Carmen or Theodore. From the photograph Carmen had shown me, Theodore had hanging jowls, a big beefy nose, and beady eyes. It was amazing what Carmen had seen in him. Even more amazing how he could have created a person like Edward.

Apparently he had chosen everyone's idiosyncratic name, including the middle. There was Emmett Vinson, Bree Opal, and Edward Mason. Edward Mason Cullen. It definitely suited him. He had the look of a count in a gothic tale of lust and betrayal. Somehow that one vision kept clouding my thoughts.

Bree whispered to me that he preferred to be called Ed. It was something I bared in mind as I ate my fried chicken and pinto beans, trying my best not to look over at him as I wondered what he was thinking to himself so quietly. I couldn't deny it. I found his presence intense in a way that made me anxious to hear him speak.

When I finally risked a glance his way, I was relieved to see he had moved to pour a glass of water from a side table. I concentrated on my food, muttering how Esme could really cook.

It helped to flick away the thoughts that were pushing into my usually sensible neurons. I was beginning to act like T'J did around me: Nervous, quiet, uncoordinated. It was as though I was falling apart limb from limb. I had hoped to find someone to crush on at long last, but not potentially two, and not so soon into my trip.

Bree piped up about Old Town. I tried my best to listen. "There's a place on Aven—"

"What have I told you?" Emmett groaned. "This table is for eating, not your idle chattering."

What was his problem? Did he forget to have some kind of hormone medication? Did he not have enough steroids injected into his thick, pulsating veins? The guy had to seriously relax.

Edward was leaning against a wall behind him, one hand in his jeans pocket, and the other holding a glass of water to his mouth, watching me in a way that seemed expectant of me to notice. I detected a slight smirk from behind his raised hand. It made my face flush hot.

I decided to speak on Bree's behalf. "I don't think Bree was disrespecting anyone, Emmett."

"Maybe where you come from, but here you have to abide by the rules, show some respect," he practically snarled at me.

I looked to Carmen, but she just lifted her hand as a silent gesture that I humor him. I tried not to roll my eyes as I peered down at my plate and continued to eat in silence.

At that point Edward walked back to the table. I counted the seconds until he was eventually seated, perhaps to distract myself from moronically staring at him. But I couldn't take not knowing how he looked, so I glanced up, catching him look away just as instantly.

I kept my eyes on him though, surveying every spine tingling inch of his face. Up so close I could see he was rugged in an unshaven, bed head kind of way. There was a definitely a beatific appeal about him, composed and masculine, yet celestially perfect, even if his scowls were mean and unnecessary. Somehow it made Sebastian harder to recall. His softer, angular face slipped out of my mind and became replaced with Edward almost bearing his teeth. I shook my head mentally. He was my cousin. And a cousin meant that no physical attraction could be apprehended. Even if it was just a title,

Besides, his mind seemed absorbed in something else. I could sense the tension in the constant clench of his jaw.

"So, what do you think of our guest, Edward?" Carmen asked, awakening me from my inspection.

It looked like Carmen was the only member of the family who insisted on still calling him Edward, much to his hatred, since his hands balled into fists.

He chewed mechanically. Staring only at his plate.

"Isn't she a delight?" Carmen said.

I wanted the floorboards to open up and take me. All eyes apart from Edward's bore into mine, fishing out a reaction. My knees began to shake.

Emmett turned his head and sneered at Edward.

"Well?" Carmen probed, determined to get an answer.

He finally swallowed, then looked at me with benevolent eyes.

The moment our eyes locked, I detected something else in his stern expression, a reddening, something virile and caustic and choosing me as the reason. But why?

I looked down at my plate.

"She's pretty don't you think?" Bree said, as if I wasn't there. I burned even hotter.

"Pretty is such an ordinary word for a girl with such unique complexity," Carmen added.

Emmett snickered, but beneath his vile sneers I could hear Edward take long breaths.

I needed to look at his face and see for myself if he writhed in his seat. I couldn't figure out why I would affect him in any way. Handsome or not, he was still way out of my league. And I was thankful for that. There wasn't enough willpower in me to trust someone who had probably began dating since adolescence.

His head was facing me, but his eyes observed the napkin by my plate. He stared long at it, his long lashes shielding the color of his pupils.

I didn't take much notice of the quietness around me, or the movement of fingers, the fleeting whispers, or the clattering when Esme took my plate. I only countered a movement beneath the table, a slight kick to my toes.

I think it was from Edward's foot. _Was it on purpose?_ Whatever it was, it sent a jolt of static shimming through me, my hands automatically clenched.

Edward blinked and lifted his head as if he'd felt the same friction. The darkest eyes hooked on to me. The flat tone of onyx had a way of looking as though they churned to my favorite buttercup yellow.

Most surprisingly of all, they appeared to be smiling at me for once, welcoming me for the first time since entering the room. But then he blinked and severed the moment, glancing hotly at Carmen before continuing to eat his meal, dissecting his chicken into a heap of tiny flakes before I could rationalize the meaning.

Emmett said nothing, only give Edward a knowing look.

"Enjoy your walk?" said a deep sultry voice.

I peered up to see who it had belonged to.

Edward eyed me, deliberately unabashed by it, maybe to see me squirm beneath his forward surveillance.

I raised my chin in defiance. "How did you know I took one?" I asked him.

I think he smirked. It was hard to tell since it also resembled a grimace.

He twirled the fork in his hand. "We saw you."

"We?" I looked at my food and poked at the remains. Edward was too confident for my liking.

"He means me," Emmett said. His voice lowered to civilized.

"So you were both spying on me?" I said at no one in particular.

Emmett grunted. "He was spying. I was fixing the car."

"Oh?" I looked to Edward, but kept my eyes on his parted lips.

His tongue curled in the bottom. It sent that same jolt of static all the way to what seemed like my marrow. When I met his eyes, he looked away and lifted his glass of water to drink. I coughed to stop another rush of heat climbing to my face.

"Keep smiling like that and you'll give even more strangers the wrong impression," Edward mumbled against his glass.

I frowned.

Bree giggled.

"If you keep spying on me like that I might have to spy on you," I retorted.

That quietened him.

"And his name's Jake actually."

Carmen looked at me quizzingly.

"I fell by the river and he helped me get up. It's no big deal"

"What?!" Carmen came running over to me. "Are you hurt? Where?"

"Just there, on my knee." I pointed. "No biggie."

"Esme! Esme! Bring the first aid box."

"Yeah get her teddy while you're at it!" added Emmett.

Carmen threw him a disapproving look that made him grimace and chomp on the rest of his dinner in silence. Edward got up and left the room, only to come back with the first aid kit.

He handed it to Carmen silently. She cooed her thanks then got to work wiping down my tiny graze and bandaging my leg as if it was broken.

When she kept getting it wrong, Edward actually came over to help. After what felt like an excruciating few minutes, he finally spoke. "It's a small town and he's not a part of it."

He finished placing the band aid on my knee that sent that same jolt of static running through me.

"Be careful who you trust." He kept his eyes on me. I tried to figure out what else he was insinuating. Before I could respond, he was back on his feet, brushing his hands together and telling Carmen he was going to see a friend.

"Oh course dear, thank you for your help. You are a good boy."

I bit my lips and suppressed the need to stand up and leave too. I had a feeling he wanted me to, and not just the room, but Blacksville.


	8. Chapter 5

5

The day had been pretty uneventful. I chose to help Esme with the dishes and then help Carlise a little in the garden that was more like a state park. They were both easy to bond with, kind, attentive and eager to please. But I guess they were paid to. Now, though, I was sitting in the drawing room with Bree, playing a game of chess, recalling Jake's face to try and forget Edward.

"Checkmate!" Bree squealed, startling me out of my open eye sleep.

She grabbed a black knight and placed it with the other three on her side of the table.

I was never any good at chess, especially not with my slip of concentration.

"You're so easy to beat." She giggled.

There was no use in thinking about Edward I warned myself hopefully for the last time. There was no use trying to understand why Carmen seemed so entranced by the surmounting tension. But as the day drew to an end, so did my strange feelings toward Edward. I had the distinct feeling he was toying with me, perhaps trying to make a serious situation lighter for me to deal with. It was far-fetched but perceivable in my tired mind. Luckily I hadn't seen him after dinner.

Leaning back in my wide and comfortable chair situated in the middle of the room beside the piano, I peeled off my cardigan and turtle neck sweater. It was warmer indoors, but too hot since I was beginning to stick to myself.

The log fire spat and licked its way around the gauze frame, sizzling with sparks of ash that illuminated the dim room

"Ok, you got me," I said. Had it of been a game of Scrabble or Pictionary it would've been a whole different story," I claimed, fanning my face with a flat ashtray.

Bree clapped her hands, then took a sip of Esme's homemade lemonade. "I'll dig out the old Scrabble board from the attic, see if you can prove it," she betted.

"You have an attic?" I asked, instantly awake. Attics intrigued me. You never knew what interesting things lay inside them. What peculiar families like the Cullens had to hide.

"You wanna see?" She smiled, already clearing the chessboard.

I didn't need to be asked twice. "Sure, why not?"

Bree bolted for the doorway. I followed closely behind, shivering as we reached the top of the stairs.

She continued onto the next floor of an even steeper loft of stairs, walking down a dark hallway with no paintings hanging on either side of the damaged walls, only shoddy beige wallpaper stained a urinated yellow that was browning at the outer lining of the ceiling.

The temperature dropped the more we approached the center of an incoming stench; sweet, but too sour in my mouth. There was a green door emanating most of the fermenting smell, mangy like slush grass or mould, locked and bolted from top to bottom.

It stood out from the other flanked doors, probably because they were all painted pearly white, and this was kind of a putrid vomit color, peeling from the lack of care to it.

I hovered outside as Bree walked ahead without me. Feeling sure, I could hear someone moving inside, scraping and lifting a drag of feet that sounded wrapped in aluminium foil or iced Saran wrap. It gathered and scrunched, stopping dead then beginning again.

"Irina," a voice whispered. "Arrious, come back to me."

My shoulders were slammed into. I jerked and stumbled forwards onto the door.

"Hey, why weren't you following me?" Bree asked, backing away from playfully pushing me.

Large goose flesh had risen on my arms. I hugged myself, rubbing them until my skin felt lacerated and coming away under my nails. I had to erase the ill feeling as the temperature rose and dropped to swathe me like a tug of chains. It had been male in tone, struggling to break through a series of shuttered static. Plus the name had hit a stagnant structure in my brain, a sensitive part that had now lost all other feeling.

"What's in that room?" I asked, nodding at the door.

Bree glowered like she hadn't noticed the stomach-churning smell, and lifted her shoulders "That rooms forbidden. It has…A collapsing roof and…rodents. No…no…an infestin…..a wood infestin." She smiled, satisfied.

"You mean a rot infestation?"

"Mm….maybe." She frowned at the correction, then twitched her nose.

"It's too dangerous anyway." She walked away from me to head down the rest of the hallway, flamboyant in her poofed out pink dress.

I had no choice but to follow her and pretend I'd imagined the eerie but welcoming voice coming from inside the room. It wasn't like I was about to get any answers. I also didn't want to appear mentally challenged by admitting to hearing anything. Besides, after my reaction to Edward and Jake all in one day, maybe I was actually starting to lose some sense.

I also soon regretted ever asking Bree to take me to the attic. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't ignore a painful stretch of my whitening skin. It felt tight and strapped wired to something electric. I was on edge, gritty like sawdust, with an instinctive feeling of being watched and followed by some unseen person moving close by me, brushing at my flimsy arms. I felt sure icy breaths skimmed the nape of my neck, causing the tiniest of hairs to rise and stand on end as I stumbled up the stairs to the attic.

It was all the more freezing inside, fogged up and dusty.

I coughed and waved the smoky air from my face, then made my way over to where Bree switched on a tall lamp.

It floodlighted the room with a kindling glow, keeping the far ends of the box-sized room shadowed by its flare of fiery orange. There were cardboard boxes piled around like a hearth; walnut colored tables mounted with fingerless clocks and crates of plush toys.

There was also a circular window facing me, cracked all the way down the middle and bringing in a much needed flow of fresher air. Stringy spider webs hung from the bilging ceiling, the exposed rafters dripped with an oily, scentless residue.

I crouched though the roof was higher than a usual attic, running my fingers through my hair and spitting out flakes of wood. Attics weren't so great, just a polluted and squalid confined space. The Cullen's' past belongings didn't seem to be anything different from what must have been kept in a middle class home. It didn't look worth the hours of a planned disturbance anyway. Unwashed baby clothes and disjointed toys were most likely the only things among the hoarded collections, with nothing to hide as I'd secretly wanted.

"Here it is" Bree squawked, hitting me with a flattened box.

She smiled and placed it carefully onto the floor that had nails poking out for someone to trip and bang their head on leaning concrete. Dipping her hands back in the crate of toys, she searched for something else to swing at me

I chose to step toward the window and take a look at the view, inhaling the shift of air coming in through the crack to cool my hot face. We were scarily high from the ground, easily accessible to see the miles of land at a gamut length. Everywhere was deprived of much light, since the night was curling in, creeping over an achromatic chapel and the halo of a hay field with running children and farmers still gathering up bits of hay. A blossom tree waved like a pendulum hand on a pivot of grass. Its pink petals from the distance were like buttery coins reflecting the emerging half-moon embossed in gray clouds.

To the right, adjacent to the rear of the manor was a cemetery. I couldn't see most of it, not like the farmstead plantations and high-situated ranches, just the low crumbling walls in a divergent shape, like a letter "C" but not as angular, forking into a frame of low prostrated bushes.

A lank woman wearing a blue head scarf carried a basket of heather and a bundle of assorted flowers as she entered through a concealed gap, walking among the dishevelled head stones and halting at the tallest to place the flowers.

I wondered who'd been buried among the humps of dirt. Or if any other member of this family were entombed or buried to rest within an undisclosed catacomb. I wondered if an Arrious was one of the lying dead.

The woman looked up at the window, catching me observing her with a flash of distaste on her bleak face. Her gaze was vacuous, staring, but with an incomplete recognition as to why. Shook her head slowly, half smiling, the other half still detesting me.

I backed away from the window and bumped into something solid and up to my calves. Tumbling back, I fell on top of something spiked, but possibly malleable, colossal in size, and as long like a child's casket.

The hinges looked made from a reddish brass, shaped as claws with long fingernails that bit holes into the metallic blue frame that mirrored my face. Below was a dense hole filled and secured with a sparkling diamond that seemed to blink and react like an eye to my touch.

Gold letters were melded to a small plague above three entwining circles, the letters unreadable and not in English or any other language that I could have guessed.

I had a feeling they existed outside our lifetime though, or even the next. I knew because I could feel the message, their symbolic worth, or sacred teaching, how they were forthcoming, but depriving me of answers, a mystery unknown to every living person that was still as absent minded to know of its existence.

"What's this?" I asked Bree.

She peered up from her clutter of cards and medallions strewn across the dangerous floor. Her hair was stuck up from the crown and dusted white with a coating of cobwebs. She blew a piece of hair from her wide open eyes and stared at me.

"How did you find that?" she asked, getting up for a more serious look.

"I didn't." My voice was shaky again. I couldn't control it. Only this time it wasn't fear affecting the sound, but an anxious incitement. "I…stumbled across it. Do you know what this means?" I pointed at the symbolic letters.

She scrunched her chub face and placed her hands on her hips. "This wasn't here yesterday." She frowned, ignoring my question and twitching her nose.

Was she lying? If she was trying to act surprised, she was doing a good job.

"Are you sure?" I pressed.

"Only I come here, Bella," she practically snapped.

"This has just arrived." She pouted. "It must have."

"Well shall we try and open it?" I offered, unbothered by the hurt in her eyes for not being told absolutely everything. I only cared to see what was inside the chest. I was in a frustrated knot to do it. I just needed the key.

"What?" She yelped, stepping back. "No...no we shouldn't. Mother will explain."

"Why hasn't she already?" I asked, wanting to make her angry and impose on her mother's rules.

She downturned her lips and skulked away from me. "There'll be a good reason. Mother is probably holding it for a friend of hers. Most of them collect."

This wasn't exactly some antique you could collect and buy to sell. It was too different. Priceless.

"I'm leaving now," she announced, placing the flat piece of cardboard under her arm, before storming across the room. I followed after her. I didn't want to be left behind in a room that bathed me with insinuating eyes.

I glanced back at the ominous object sitting deserted but occupying its position back in the dark, resting among the rubble of fallen chips of wood and detritus concrete. My hands shook, wishing to have the strength to break it open and create a fissure with my bare hands.

To someone it gave meaning. To someone it was uncomplicated, understandable and easy to solve. It was an item of mass significance, a bulk of something I was far from less cowardice to accept.

When we both returned to the second floor, Bree retreated to her room, complaining of a headache and a need to wear her wool pyjamas. It was a lie. She knew I knew it. And I knew my stay here was to re-enact the same response. But I could see why she needed to get away from me. How she may have been offended by the secret kept behind her back.

Nothing was kept from Bree. Things were probably run by her before a decision could me made or given thought. As far as Bree was concerned, she was the most important thing to live within the walls of the Cullen household. Nothing, not even me, a new potential interest that seemed alien to her easy way of life could stand in the way of that.

To keep a secret would mean they were keeping her out of something important. What that might be was still bothering me.

I walked to my room, seeing my feet move but my heart still drift somewhere in the attic, clenching itself to the chest and the many thing I knew it could give me to make me feel wiser. Better about who I was, and possibly could be.

I approached my door and turned the handle, stopping the twist of my wrist at the sound of a door swing open opposite, inviting a delicate scent of someone recently showered. It was Craven, I mean Edward, standing by his door, trying to avert his gaze instead of look at me, then doing so anyway. His longish hair had been combed back to tail behind his neck and dripped water on the wood floor.

He was cleanly shaven, giving his skin a healthier shine and a soft pink hue to his cheeks. I wasn't sure which look I preferred.

Neither of us spoke in the minutes that seemed to pass like hours. It didn't matter which one looked away first. We didn't look set to do it. I knew I didn't want to. _Did he feel the same? Who was I kidding?_

My back hurt from the prolonged press of the door handle to my spine. My head wanted to lower and look at my hands. I wanted to get away and enter my room as if I'd never seen him. Not that my mind had been on anything as cryptic or arcane as his amazing color changing eyes. Not even the chest. I tried to guard myself from how he made me automatically react, but the push only backfired. My tension became undone. Until I didn't feel sabotaged, but sought, as if a seal had been broken, yet smeared with heartfelt emotions, new kinds of feelings I hadn't wanted to experience or ever thought I could have. Yet they still flourished, blooming inside me like a hurricane, thrashing at my chest till it felt plucked at and squeezed.

When he finally stalked down the hall, I finally brought my hands forward to check.

They were somehow still, solid as a rock and unaffected by the longing I'd just felt for a stranger.


	9. Chapter 6

I woke with a jolt. Something had blown like a horn in my ears. The sound of running water was coming from the bathroom. The light inside flickered, creating dancing shadows over the pink powdery walls.

Someone was in my room. I must have forgotten to lock the door like an idiot. I berated myself for being so careless, catching my breath and kicking at the sheets to get out of bed. It didn't take long to come across something wet along my travels in the dark munitions of my room.

I peered closer and found footprints from the bathroom to the end of my bed, as if someone had been standing there, watching me sleep. I tried not to panic and kept moving.

The door to my room creaked open, revealing the blackness of the hallway. Edward's door was closed and most likely bolted. I had to fight the urge to wake him—if he was even inside—if he would even answer me.

I had to know who the footprints belonged to. I couldn't just climb back into bed without checking. The water prints looked like they belonged to a male; they were long, broad with large droplets for toes. Maybe Emmett and Bree were playing a prank on me.

I charged into the bathroom, only to slip and fall onto the wet tiles with a dense thud.

I was lying in a pool of water soaking into my nightshirt. Water poured from the faucet at the sink, spilling from the sides like a waterfall cascading down to the baby blue tiles. It was shallow, but steadily making its way to the doorway and ebbing into the floorboards of my room. I made my way to the sink to pull the chain, listening to the water gurgle down the pipe to steady by heartbeat.

As I looked in the mirror on the medicine cabinet, a tall shadow scurried behind me.

I tried to scream but couldn't.

A push to my back was similar to being patted, but too vigorous. Invisible hands brushed away the sides of my hair, gently, but with unkindness I could detect. I still couldn't open my mouth to speak, scream, or cry for help. I stayed planted against the sink, rigorous and chilled to the bone, trying to locate a muscle that could pull me away from the sliver of fingers tracking a line from the pith of my spine to the top of my neck. I couldn't even turn my head away from the clouding mirror. There was no reflection. No way to see myself soundlessly crying.

Only my eyes darted around as far as they could to search the bathroom. When I began to convulse, my hands finally lost their grip on the sink. My stomach swelled as if I was becoming pregnant.

"Get out," cried a female voice. "Get out! Get OUT!"

Deep red blood shot out from the sink and hit me in the chest.

I flew across room and landed with a deafening crack against the bathtub.

I yelped as water splashed face.

"Drink this," someone muttered, placing a glass to my lips. I took large gulps, trying not to vomit.

When I'd had enough, I leaned back against the bathtub. My heavy breaths were the only sign that time was passing without my real acceptance of it.

"Can you speak?" The voice was husk, drowsy with disrupted sleep. It was a voice I instantly recognized.

My heart rose to my throat and beat fast. I tried my damnedest not to let it. Barefoot and shirtless with gray sweatpants soaked from the bottom was Edward. I blinked a few times to clear my head from the confusion of being distracted by Edward so easily, even in this state.

"I'm not sure." I clenched shyly at the wet fabric of my nightshirt, hiding my exposed underwear as I groped at my stomach. It was flat and unmoving, allowing me to release my clenched hands and the painful shake of my shoulders.

He looked at me pre-eminently as he lifted one hand and held up a piece of tissue. "Here, dry off your face." The offer was blunt and uncaring, but I took it anyway and rubbed at my face, all the while suppressing the need to convey the tones of his deeply attuning voice. I had longed to hear it again, see beyond the gray metal plates that seemed to have moulded around his pupils. Obviously, I must have been imagining it.

As always he broke the hold, almost sheepishly, breathing in through his nose then out through his lips. I watched as if it was the most unusual thing to witness, wishing I knew what he was thinking so I that I could understand his need to be so distant.

When he looked at me, it wasn't directly. His gaze was somewhere in between my eyes

"Can you stand?" he asked, neutral in tone.

I just glared, unable to speak.

"Now?" he asked, rubbing at his face.

"Give me five," I said through gritted teeth.

He stood and turned the faucets at the sink, something I felt sure I did only minutes ago. He leaned back against it and waited. I wasn't sure for what. A bedtime story?

"You can leave now." I wasn't ready to be alone, but I didn't want to be monitored by him either. I didn't want to see his six-pack or exposed boxers, see his arms folded over his bare chest so that they expanded like mounds of tough skin, see the way he could never quite look at me.

"Will you be making a habit of this?" he asked in his mastered uncaring tone.

"I don't know." I scowled. "I'll have to check my schedule."

"I won't stand for being disturbed this late. You're lucky no one else heard you mumbling to yourself."

"That's what you heard? Mumbling?"

He shrugged. "It's up to you what you do with your own time." He peered around. "You should try turning the faucets off next time you sleep walk."

His extreme good looks were losing their appeal. Even his voice was losing the seductive edge. He complained too much. Standing in front of me was an ass as inconvenient as the water around me.

"You could move rooms," I snapped. "There's plenty to choose from."

He turned to leave. He was a coward too.

"I didn't wake you on purpose, Ed." I realized too late that I'd called him by the dreaded wrong name. I tensed, unprepared for an explosion.

He stopped in his tracks and looked to the side of him. I tried not to admire how his back muscles flexed and curved inwards between his shoulders.

"Edward," he said somewhat calmly. "It's _Edward_."

As soon as Edward left, the memory of what happened returned just as fresh for me to recall it like a strange state of limbo. As if I'd been in a dream, but somehow awake, running, but at the speed of a stroll.

I quickly changed into a dry shirt and layered up again since the cold draft had returned, then sat up in bed and kept the bedside lamp switched on while I clutched my cell phone that had Jared's number on the screen, ready to call if I plunged into another preternatural world where I was invaded by an invisible presence.

Although my stomach was bloated, it wasn't ballooning like it had a few minutes ago. It just churned because of indigestion, not the feeling that a livid organism was inside.

Thinking back, though, it had been a fictive feeling, as if it had been happening to someone else and I had been a spectator at close range. It didn't completely embed itself to my membrane.

The woman who screamed had been different; her voice adamant and shrill, but also apprehensive, unable to make a choice between right and wrong. Her presence was weaker than the other. She was unable to reach me at first. I sensed she couldn't fight an avenging pull. And when I hit the bathtub, I felt her hands on my feet, tugging as she screamed my name; screamed like she knew me, knew I was coming here all along. I had a feeling it was Arrious, the name uttered through the green door. A door restricted and kept apart from the rest of the Manor.

What was inside? Was Isobel keeping a secret like Jared suspected? Did she keep the door closed for a reason?

I had to speak to her, make her tell me or break the door down myself.

As for my stomach, I didn't know why it swelled as if I was becoming pregnant.

Was it a premonition? A metaphor for something? Growth? Change? Something new to enter my life?

I had a feeling it wasn't. I just wanted to devise another theory and consider it being something other than a bad omen.

I didn't want to have to think about pregnancies again. I didn't want to be reminded of a moment in my past that would always haunt me.


	10. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

The next morning, I grabbed the mop and bucket in the bathroom and wiped up the water. Daylight made it easier to step back inside without fearing what could leap out at me.

Besides, the Cullens' were waking and stepping out of their rooms to wander the halls.

It was comforting. I didn't feel so set apart from the rest of the household, destitute in the creepy old manor. I contemplated moving rooms, but would it really help? If the place was haunted, did it matter where I slept? Whatever it was, it would probably follow me, and I still didn't know what I was dealing with. I could have been sleepwalking for the first time. I could have dreamed up last night. It could have been a trick of the mind or underlying stress. I might have been losing it on a trip to nowhere and with people I wasn't clicking with. Carmen included. It was the worst place to crack.

To distract myself, I tugged on a pair of skinny jeans and three cardigans over a thick turtleneck to keep me warm. I wasn't freezing, but I had to hold onto myself to tame the shivers.

When I arrived downstairs, Carlise told me everyone had left for the day, which was fine by me, just inconvenient for my questions. I couldn't face any company anyway, especially not Edward Cullen's.

I left Carlise to do some gardening while I mooched around to get familiar with the place like Carmen encouraged. I wanted to see what lurked in drawers and rooms that were mostly unlocked. It seemed rude, so I kept it minimal. Yet they hardly had anything inside.

Satisfied there was nothing more to write home about, I entered the study for the second time, gladly without Carmen waiting for me behind her wide girth of a desk, tapping her pen and eyeing me like she'd known me a few hours.

The rate she was changing was bothering me. It was as if the woman I had shared so much with and seemed so eager to please me was disappearing.

It was time I talked to her. I couldn't let myself get side-tracked by Edward and the strangeness of last night. But my bedroom door _had _been unlocked. Someone _had_ been watching me from the foot of my bed.

I shuddered at the thought.

_Could ghosts unlock doors and leave wet footprints?_

No. It had to be a prank. Emmett didn't seem to like me very much. He could have been

trying to scare me back home. Bree could have been a prankster in her spare time, too. She did look the type, but the footprints had been too large.

I stopped the pointless chattering in my head. Unless I told someone about it, I wasn't going to get any answers. Simple.

I also acted out of character last night, idiotically...enamoured by Edward. I wasn't, not when I was back to being rational. And I sure as hell didn't waste my time on superficial feelings, never mind people who treated me as though I was an outsider. I'd had enough of that at the group home.

I sauntered into the study. It looked the same as yesterday. I wasn't sure why I'd expected it to be different, probably because in the afternoon it seemed plainer, in the evening it had a great eminence, similar to a room within a castle.

I opened a few drawers and found more books, opened glass cabinets and found nothing behind the soft-paste porcelain plates on display like beautified Frisbees.

When I became bored with the rummage, I sat at the large desk beside the pane glass window. The sunlight warmed my face. I held up my hands to warm them too. The desk must have been where Carmen kept all her paperwork. Did she work? Live off her inheritance? I hadn't thought to ask. I just assumed she did.

I tried to pull open some of the drawers, but they were all locked. Then I was in luck. One slid open.

Inside was a selection of multi colored paper clips, a pair of scissors, various pens, pencils, and a tin of soft mints. I tried not to be disappointed as I sat back and huffed. It wasn't going to be easy to find any of the Cullen's secrets. I guess if Carmen had anything to hide, she wouldn't have made it reachable with bobby pins. Something sparkled at the back of the drawer, beneath the scissors.

I carefully dragged it along the green lining and picked it out with two fingers. It was a key, elongated and narrow and possibly made of plated silver, encrusted with Lilliputian red and black gemstones. Its tail was reptile like, wrapped around its brittle frame like a ring, creating three apt loops attached to a snake's head with glowing emerald eyes. The words "Temius Legara – Spirits of the earth" was welded onto the middle.

I wasn't educated on the subject of foreign tongues, but it was pretty obvious it didn't resemble one that was documented or practiced to teach, And Carmen didn't come across as a pot smoking hippie dancing genially around a tree. Nor did she look like an avid supporter of Green-peace, leading riots to save the rainforest.

What was she doing with it? What did it open? Her briefcase? No. That had combination locks. Maybe the chest in the attic?

Before I was caught red handed, I slipped the key back inside the drawer exactly where I found it. Resting back against in the rotating chair, I tapped my fingers on the padded armrests, fantasizing about the key and its origin, the many ways I could get to the attic and try it on the chest.

Carlise whizzed into the room and gave me a start. He was carrying a tray with a glass of juice and a toasted buttered bagel on top, and had changed into an old flannel blue shirt and black shorts. I didn't know he also did housekeeper duties. "Breakfast is served. Found anything interesting?"

"Not yet. And thanks Carlise."

I would have preferred a latte, but chose not to be ungrateful.

I was about to tell him about last night, but thought better of that too. There was a chance I hadn't locked the door. Now that I thought in-depth about it, I remembered going to the door to turn the lock then getting distracted by a mocking text message from my colleague Mike that read: N_ight_. _Don't let the Cullens bite_.

Maybe I'd forgotten to turn the lock.

As for everything else that happened, I couldn't start airing something spooky and irrational to anyone and everyone. I couldn't ruin my farce of a reputation of being stable on my second day.

"There's plenty to look through." Carlise winked. "Shout if you need me." He breezed out of the room and closed the door behind him.

With that in mind I decided to take a look at the collection, even if it was just to check if they weren't made of plastic. I skimmed the row of shelves with my finger, drifting my eyes along the volumes of books in alphabetical order or numerical order. I waited for a title to catch my eye. But nothing did, not even for a second. They were mostly pharmaceutical, dating from medieval to the eighteenth century. There were one or two books on poetry, but by authors never established to be given a name or title—signed anonymous, faded and losing pages.

My eyes diverted back to a red book parked deep within the shelf, recondite between two larger ones. It was entitled "Myths and Legends – The history behind mystical realms."

I raised a brow. This was another thing I hadn't expected.

I tried to pull it down, but it didn't want to budge. It was lodged like a wobbling tooth. I stood on a chair until I was eye level, then placed one hand on top of the book and yanked.

It loosened and stuck out from the top. Pulling with both hands until I was blotch faced and frustrated and preparing to scream for Carlise, the shelf finally released the book flat open on my chest, billowing with thick dust. I coughed and gagged, jumped down from the chair and drank my juice before the dust could settle. I drank it all though it was too cold, just like everything else in a Manor with the climate of a Wyoming winter. I bended down to collect the fallen pages on the rug, stopping to sift through the one that was beneath the top. It was a page titled "Ritualistic Summoning," with a picture illustrated underneath. A few paragraphs were about folklores and Goddesses that manifested in the night. A montage of half human, half beasts, changing faces with allegorical insignias were on either side of a gruelling smile. The rest of them were crouched like wolves that had sharp horns, holding a child as a cluster of people in cloaks leaped around a fire.

My heart hammered against my chest. I quickly gathered the crumbling sheets, placed them back into the book, then shoved it back into the shelf as if it was covered in flesh eating bugs. I didn't want to see it again. It was enough to fuel my current nightmares and spectral daydreams. Why would the Cullens have it? It was morbid, sadistic, and totally unnecessary. It seemed like it was the only one on the shelf, almost kept out of sight.

Selecting one of the poetry books, I took a seat in a small chair in front of the lit fireplace and sipped on my drink, trying to clear the mental images from the book that looked down at me like a person with leering eyes.

An hour or so later, Carmen appeared, clasping a pair of cream, satin gloves and carrying a large briefcase. She was also wearing high wasted beige slacks and a ruffled baby blue shirt that made her look even younger than yesterday.

Sauntering into the room, she came to a standstill when she realized she had company. "Oh, there you are, darling." She sat behind her huge desk. "What have you been doing today, reading? That is very wise of you." She unlocked one of her drawers with a key from her pocket and placed the briefcase carefully inside.

"I thought it would be nice to sit and unwind," I replied, watching her every move. "How was your morning?" I wanted to know why she was carrying such a large briefcase.

Carmen had unlocked her drawers and looked up at me with a quick smile. "Yes, fine, thank you, darling. I was just handling some business regarding the house, finance and expenditure and what not. Nothing of any particular interest." She dove back into the compartments of her desk.

I got up to sit in the chair at her desk. "If you're not too busy Carmen, can we talk about my family history? It's one of the reasons why I came here, after all."

She stopped what she was doing and peered at me from the top of the desk. "Of course. What would you like to know?" Wisps of hair had fallen in front of her face. She brushed them aside and sat perfectly straight, reminding me how much I slouched.

"Anything, just something you haven't told me. Maybe you could tell more about Alistair."

She eyed me critically, leaning her arms on the table. She began to grate her fingernail against the cuticle of her thumb. "So you've been informed of him." I noticed she said "him" like he was a traitorous leech.

Not another difficult subject.

"Bree told me about him last night," I explained to her confused pout.

"Well, as you are perhaps aware he lived here with his parents in the 1800's. He had a child out of wedlock and never married. They found him hanging from his room for reasons that have remained unknown." The rubbing of her thumb continued, turning it red.

No, I hadn't known. "Which room had he hanged himself in?" I hoped it wasn't mine.

"Oh, do not worry." Carmen smiled, reading my expression. "It was the room at the top tier. No one visits there."

The skin on her thumb peeled from all the scratching. It looked painful. I wanted it to stop.

"Is it the one with...the greenish door?"

She looked at me like I'd sworn. "You've visited?"

She had asked casually, but her jaw had tensed. I wasn't sure why she was surprised. She said I could freely look around.

"Bree showed me. Anyway, forget that for a minute Carmen, you're hurting yourself. Are you okay?"

Carmen looked at the blood coating the inside of her thumb nail. "Oh," she said with minor surprise. "How careless of me." She sucked on the end of it.

"Is there anything else?" I asked, afraid that insisting on more information might make her chew off her hand.

She sighed. "No, that is all. There is not much more I can explain. To tell you the truth, I was told very little regarding the family's history—especially the kind dating back so far. Whenever I broached such a subject, it was made quite clear to be strictly forgotten." She looked at her watch. "My goodness. It will be time for dinner before we know it. I think I will take a long hot bath and then divulge in a read myself before we dine this evening. Do you mind, darling?" She had already risen, making the decision for me.

"Enjoy your bath." I smiled with a look that probably seemed too calculated.

"Thank you, dear." She flushed. I wondered why.

"I will see you at dinner." She disappeared before I had the chance to think up an excuse to miss it.

I was beginning to detest dinner with the Cullens. It was more like a trip to the dentist, a chore, an aggravation. Between Emmett's attitude, Carmen's erratic behaviour, and now Edward's added exoticism reactions to my visit, I wanted to hole up in my room. It was like eating with a group of escaped mental patients. The only sane person seemed to be Bree. No wonder the poor girl looked so happy to see me. She might have been spoiled and self absorbed, but at least she acted fairly normal.

Something was wrong at Thorncrest Manor. Gooseflesh popped up all over my arms and legs as I thought about last night. A part of me wanted to run like hell while I still had the chance, but something stronger, more stubborn made me want to stay. For some reason I was becoming fond of Carlise and Esme, for more than their general politeness. They drew me in. I guess they were becoming likeable, allowing me to feel extra cared for and important, something I wasn't prepared to lose just yet.

Plus, there was something I had to figure out, such as why I was disliked by two members of the Cullens, and for what reason? I had to know why Carmen was changing. I was too stupid to leave before I had my answers.

I couldn't get my mind off the key, the book, what happened last night, so I went outside to explore the surrounding grounds to clear my head. My feet itched to see cemetery. It's was only yards away. What better place to learn about the past?

I picked a few flowers in case came across on any graves with familiar names. Well, two of anyway.

The yard had no gate, only a low stone wall that travelled around to an opening at one end beside a wilted apple tree. I stepped inside and felt discouraged by the display of dedications to the dead. I hoped the scowling woman I'd seen from the attic window wasn't going to appear and snarl something threatening.

The tombs were all broken, some a little pushed open so that the cracks invited mosquitoes and flying ants. Leaves lay on the ground like a bed of black roses. The head stones were just as abused, lapsing backwards or sideways into a demeaning droop. Most weren't even standing, let alone readable. They had to be lifted to see who the grave belonged to.


	11. Chapter 8

It was disheartening to see how they'd been left to dissolve to stumps, corroded into thin slates of morass green that felt sharp against my fingertips.

In the center was a headless statue kneeled in prayer, spotted and crumbling into a mottled gray. Beneath was a faded inscription.

_Beginning of one's end._

_The fallen shall be caught._

_Retrieved and blessed if not thrown back to the wicked._

I ran my hands over the raised letters. It wasn't an uplifting or consoling message, so I walked around the humps of graves in search of a name to bring me still or catch my attention. It took me a while, but then I found him: Alistair, his tomb protected by the growth of weeds covering most of the cleaved surface. It was fenced, but I could still read his name engraved on the rusted plate. Strangely, the only thing inscribed for him was his name. Nothing else. Not even his date of birth or death.

After placing down the flowers and stood there for a minute, wondering if neither were noted. Had any family been alive to give such details to any grave digging pallbearers? Maybe back then births and deaths weren't recorded.

Alistair was rich and lived in the personified Manor. They could have at least added something to describe him and his shortened life.

The Manor stood in all its sky-reaching righteousness, granulated chimney tops and the bevelling roof, looked as though it wanted to collapse but stayed standing out of some type of historic duty. Thorncrest was a title that must have belonged to Alistair in some way. I had to ask Carmen in the hope she would answer me properly. To all who would pass it, Vander was just a name with no past. They would never learn what he must have loved and what he had gained and lost within such an unfulfilled life. A life he ended prematurely.

As I crouched to touch his tomb, something flashed in the window of the Manor. A mane of blonde waves pressed against the small fractured glass. A hand pressed to it, as if trying to push through and reach out and grasp a hold of the air. It was solid and a fleshy pink, small like mine.

I waved and the hand slipped away and into the darkness. A shiver ran up my legs as I tried to disengage myself from the image re-playing in my mind: the fan of golden spun hair and the fragile press of a female hand that was accessible to me if I could've reached it. It really happened. I had no idea what it was supposed to mean or who it had been standing there watching. I was getting seriously spooked. None of the Cullen's had fair hair, and nobody visited the attic except Bree. It was her only hideout. Could there be a ghost at the Manor? I shook my head, but my hands trembled.

"Seen a ghost?" said a voice that made me jump.

"I'm not sure," I stuttered, still looking at the attic window

"Male or a female?" A girl around my age moved to stand beside me as I tried to catch another glimpse of blonde hair. I had to see it again to believe in the impossible.

"Female," I replied in a daze, my eyes seeing everything in a double.

"Blonde?"

Her amber hair glimmered red against the sunlight. Her shaded blue eyes spilled over with a friendliness that literally made her sparkle as she smiled at me with pebble size teeth.

"How did you know?"

She lifted her shoulders. "Jus a guess see. That bein her color n'all."

"Who?" I demanded, unable to keep the harshness out of my voice.

"Arina," she said, her tone too gritty with the.

Her shoulders relaxed as she smiled. Her navy cotton dress hugged her plump-ish figure. Her pretty cherub face turned pink.

"Who's Arina?" I spat, trying to tone down my level of aggravated questions.

"Love of Alistair." She said it as though the whole world had known of the story, and I'd been living under a sea bedded rock. "Mother of his child."

" What happened to her?" My nerves were too jangled to stay calm.

"Gone leaped off a cliff. Ain't nobody sure why. Never found her."

"Is that why he killed himself?" My voice had lowered, sounding far away to me, a whisper in the sultry air.

"He'd gone killed himself for a darn good reason." She sighed, her strained expression emitting sympathy for the doomed lovers.

"I here see her ghost sometimes," she said with a frenzied smile. "When I pass through to visit the chapel. Don't no one believe me though."

I didn't know what to say. I just watched her watch me. Smile even when I didn't.

"Did you just see her?" she asked, her fingers perhaps crossed behind her back.

"I ... think so, but ghosts." I coughed. "Ghosts don't exist." I tried to sound fearless, all the while my teeth chattered.

"Maybe they do now. You gone seen her too. I wouldn't be surprised if she paid you mo' of a visit now that you staying at the old Manor n' all."

My knees knocked.

"Names Alice by the way. And you are?"

"Bella Valdez," I said, wondering if should go by my real surename.

"I thought you looked Greek."

"It's Spanish. My surname is Hispanic."

"Then you look kinda … Latin American."

I didn't bother to explain the difference.

"So how long will you be staying, Miss Valdez." She grinned, putting on a really bad Spanish accent.

"I'm just here for a few weeks then I'll be heading home."

"Where to?"

"Utah."

She scrunched up her heart shaped face. "Kinda dry there, ain't it?"

"Not really. The dryer parts are in the East. We've a lot more vegetation and growth in the Southwest."

"Sounds perky." She chuckled, holding her stomach. "And how you finding the Cullens?" Her face turned serious. The question, I noted, lingered with an added interest.

"They're fine." A neutral answer was better than the truth.

"Kooks, huh? Real nice then cold?"

I giggled with her to cover my true feelings to her questions.

"S'okay. I know they can be confusin," she said.

"You do?"

"Sure. Why, I grew up with the Cullen's, even stayed at the Manor few times as a child."

"You were friends with the likes of Emmett?!"

She sat on a vacant tomb. "Ain't that the truth? Though he was human once, you know?" She stopped laughing abruptly and looked away.

"So what happened?"

"Let's just say he grew up and grew an even bigger head."

It was my turn to laugh.

"A girl like me aint no dead ringer for a cheerleading squad."

"How about Edward?" I asked casually, a part of me wanted to believe he was different.

"We were never that close. But we talk. He don't go pretendin I'm dead anyhow."

I was glad to hear Edward wasn't as heartless, but my dislike for Emmett grew with a vengeance. "Emmett should be glad girl like you gave him the time of day."

She blushed, running her hands along her ponytail. I sensed, she had feelings for Emmett that ran deeper than friendship. The poor girl must've been traumatized in more ways than she could admit.

"Forget him, Alice. The guy's a loser." I peered around to make sure he wasn't listening. "You can do better than him." I smiled when I was sure that he wasn't.

She blushed an even deeper scarlet.

"Sorry, I've said too much."

"S'okay." She kept laughing, unable look at me. "I better go." She rose from the tomb and brushed the back of her creased dress. "Nano will be wondering where I disappeared to so long. I only stepped out for milk." She picked up her brown paper bag of groceries. "I live over by the bay area up on Tennant Hill. Ask Bree to bring you by sometime."

"I will. Maybe you could come by the Manor."

She looked hesitant, then smiled. "See you around, Bella."

"Sure. Bye Alice. Thanks for taking the time to talk to me." I waved as she disappeared through the gather of trees.


	12. Chapter 9-

Chapter Eight

The sun shone through the opening clouds as I walked along the gritty path, stopping sometimes to make swirly patterns with the tip of my shoe. The heat intensified with each passing minute as I fanned my face with my hands.

I didn't want to think about ghosts or returning doomed lovers, so I mentally shoved the thoughts to the back of my mind to enjoy the fresh air and nature's ambience. Birds chirped and insects buzzed, muffling the memory of the voice from last night.

I was being paranoid as usual. I had no reason to run away or chase after something told from an old tale that was probably passed down through generations. I wasn't sucking myself into this mess, and I wasn't backing down from my fear to change. Having only yourself to rely on made you thicker skinned than most. Sometimes it grew thin enough to allow the negative aspect of my past to filter through and connect with a part that had been laid to rest. Having a few casual friends helped to an extent. I tried to conceal it with their empathy to understand, though they never could.

My best friend, Jess, used to say people who suffered the most gained the biggest rewards. Too bad she didn't stick around to see me reap my so-called gifts. Being married to a moron like, Riley really a way of brainwashing even the less susceptible to good-looking trash.

The memory of our time together was pointless. I had to keep myself busy or else sink into a bad mood all day. I made sure I found things to do, however childish, like roll around in a meadow, climb a ruddy hill to the blossom tree, running lengths around another cemetery. The wind cooled me down, though my chest felt on fire.

After jogging from tree to tree, I stopped by the river to catch my breath. Admittedly in the hope to see Jake. I sat on a stump and tried to tighten the strap on my shoes, realizing too late I should've brought my sneakers.

A moment later, something splashed and whipped through the air. I lifted my head and found Jake sat fishing a lower riverbed, so lost in thought, he didn't see me. It was weird too, not his stark expression, but the fact that I hadn't seen him when I sat down. It was as if he had materialized by my thoughts alone, from some magical poof of smoke, relaxed and swinging his line as if it didn't take practice.

"Hey," I yelled.

He turned his head and waved me over like he'd been expecting me. I didn't hesitate. It wasn't like I hadn't anticipated bumping into him. Maybe not partly dressed as a fisherman and sticking long slimy things to a hook, but I was more than happy to see his crooked smile.

"Look who we have here," he said without standing. "Take a seat, Bella." He nodded at the ground beside him.

I sat so close I could smell his salamander bait.

"How's the leg?" he asked, without turning to look at me.

"Better thanks." Nothing that an antiseptic wipe, gauze pads, and plastic strip couldn't cure. I chose to spare him the gory details. He wound his reel and flicked back the rod to throw it back into the murky stream.

"Catch anything yet?"

He shook his head.

Was there a reason he wasn't as talkative today? Other than the fact he was concentrating on catching fish?

"It's not as easy as it looks." He jerked back his hand and he swore under his breath at the false alarm.

"Better luck next time, huh?"

He ignored my comment and talked to himself as he tried to reel something in again, then stood to try with both hands. "Think I've got it." He strained out through gritted teeth. It looked like he was reeling in a whale.

I stood behind him and enjoyed the view. He wore knee length black shorts and a torn T-shirt beneath an even rattier shirt and Converse on his feet. Of course it looked good on him, what with his exposed taut arms and muscular calves.

I looked away as I heated up for other reasons than the summer heat. My heart thudded against my chest and my legs ached to run off some more steam.

His hands trembled and he stepped back then forward, only to drop his arms and throw away the rod. He swore louder this time. I waited for him to stop kicking the ground.

"Can I give it a try?"

His face was red, his eyes impassioned, yet his voice was barely above a whisper. "Sure, why not?" He wiped his forehead, then picked up the line that was tangled in a thorny bush. He didn't wince once as he shook it out with a quick scoop. Maybe it wasn't as thorny as it looked. "Here."

I took the handle, unsure of what to do next. My breath caught as he stood behind me and took my hands into his, easing them back to swing the line forward. They never left mine as I waited, dumbstruck, wondering why my heart rate was decreasing rather than speeding to an exhilarating rate, why Edward's face kept popping into my mind.

"Part your legs slightly," he said beside my ear, his warm breath tickling the tip of my earlobe. "That's it."

I hadn't even moved yet.

"Keep your eyes on those water circles," he whispered, as if the fish could hear him conspiring to hook them by the gills.

I watched them and counted. I was good at that. Although there were only two, one was spreading; the other was disappearing as I tried to keep the line still.

"Easy…easy," he said in a somewhat seductive tone, curling himself inwards to grab me by the elbows. "Slant a little."

I opened my mouth to tell him it was pointless, but something yanked my arms. My joints almost popped from my shoulders_. _Jeez what was it? Jaws? The incredible hulk?

Jake took some of the control as I loosened my grip. His closeness drew me in. I wanted to hold him close, bury my face against the delectable scent of vanilla soap and grass, maybe a hint of gasoline.

"Look," he shouted, frightening me out of the thoughts. "It's moving!" He pulled as he kept me locked against his chest, much like someone else; I was drawn to him, noticing everything: his suppleness, his temperature that seemed neutral, his heartbeat that wasn't pounding nearly as much as mine, even if mine pounded with panic. What did it all mean? That I was seriously crushing on two guys—two totally different guys that made me question who I was, what I believed in? Before now, I'd never been this hooked. There had to be more: heart, good sense of humour, common ground. Jake looked like he had those qualities. Edward, though, couldn't be further away. Yet that didn't seem to alter his appeal to me.

"That's it. Bring it in nice and slow." He frantically wound the reel as though the fish was his last meal.

I found myself eager not to lose it. My need to catch the fish took over everything else as Edward's face faded from my mind. My heart still danced to a silent beat, my head remained somewhere in the clouds, sleeping off a dizzying height that held so many feelings I'd never experienced to question.

"No" he yelled. The line whipped from my hands and ceremoniously fell into a puddle.

He didn't swear this time, just stepped away from me and put his up in his hands. I couldn't look at him. Although I wasn't sure what had happened, I had a feeling I'd lost him his lunch or breakfast.

"I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault." He didn't sound convinced.

"Was that lunch?"

"Something like that."

Great. Now I was starving him. What a way to impress a guy.

"I'll buy you something to eat."

"Do you even know a place?" I think he was smirking. The tone of his voice had lifted."

"Well, no.

"I do. But it's not upstate or anything."

"Food is food" I dared myself to turn.

"You might just change that verdict." His lips lifted in that same crooked grin, turning my insides to mush.

I let him lead me past a stream and toward a breakneck hill, and then a tilted maple tree. "So where we going?"

He was still a stranger to me, a person that gave little away but took more away from me. But my instinct told me to be trusting. It felt customary, like the way we walked hand in hand.

"You'll see. I wanna take you somewhere else first." He climbed some steps two at a time. I almost lost my sandal.


	13. Chapter 10-

"I don't plan on kidnappin you." He squeezed my hand. "Though the thought had crossed my mind." He frowned then smoothed his brow with his crooked, cute smile. I hadn't for a single second been afraid. Maybe even if it'd been true.

He still held my hand as we walked in a synchronized step. Nothing made him let go of me, not even when we crossed a rail track and I trapped my heel, or when I stumbled to my knees running through a cornfield. He kept my hand held, clenched, purposely like a continuous embrace.

I didn't want him to let me go either. I wanted it to be permanent. Maybe not the hand, but the pulse and his heartbeat. The way it toyed with mine and gave me a reassurance to openly smile.

We passed a communal gathering within another cemetery. There was a funeral in procession. The casket was being lifted and lowered into the ground. A woman dressed in white, with a conjugal veil was throwing a bouquet of a hundred flowers inside. Her actions were similar to a machine programmed to suddenly break down and weep and pull at the grass, her tears deceitful, her eyes glancing around the crowd of real mourners to see if they could notice.

"Miss Felicity Jane," said Jake, stopping beside me. "Was married to Mr Randall," he added. "He was seventy two."

"How do you know all these people?"

"The Clarke Times," he said, scratching his head.

He turned and walked to the back of the cemetery, pulling at stems of a carnivorous looking plant that curled from his touch. It was cool the way they did it, as if he was some magician that worked his magic on green leafy obstructions.

There was a gaudy fence behind, painted a lubricous black, with a barrage of tiny bubbles that were Jessient on my hands to feel like barbed wire. Two of the bars must have been pushed open, perhaps by Jake or someone else who broke into cemeteries late at night.

"Watch your head." He said from the other side.

I hunched over and poked my head through the arched bars, twisting my shoulders to shimmy the rest of the way without slicing off my breasts and getting my hair tangled in the twisty ivy leaves. I was wearing shorts. Thankfully. Which meant I could bend my legs up to my neck and hop on one foot as I eased the other foot to join it, finding myself surrounded by dandelions and florets floating up to my nose.

I sneezed and lost my balance. Jake grabbed a hold of my arm just in time to catch me. "Easy," he muttered, close to my ear, his lips for a second brushing my earlobe.

He let go as soon as I straightened, his hand's had been unsteady. shaking noticeably as he tried to grip me harder and pull me to his chest.

I didn't feel my heartbeat though. Not even one nerve-racking thud.

We stepped into a clearing, though it was more like a golfing course, flanked by too many Hemlocks and cedars and psychedelic wildflowers. The birds tweeted louder among them. Caterwauling rather than singing some sweet serenading bird song.

Jake took my hand again. This time it was clammy, the middle of his palm like a plunger that suctioned a pulse, actually unclogging my mind, but filling my heart with a sensation of being caressed. I didn't let go. I couldn't even if I wanted to. His hold was too forthright. Too binding. Too overtaking to have the strength.

We stopped at a tent. He let go of my hand and lifted the large leaves acting as a canopy to possibly shield it from anyone who might have tried to trespass his privatised area. He unzipped the front to crouch and voyage inside.

I followed on after him, though the structure seemed unsafe, hanging by hinges that looked easy to dissemble. I was half expecting it to collapse on our head as I sat on an orange beanbag that had shredded and lost solidness and height.

There was a chopped tree trunk in the centre as a makeshift coffee table. Jake began squeezing fresh fruit on the top, which he'd cut open with a homemade sharp device that looked to be made from clean slate and twisted twine. Two plastic cups were filled with the extract of orange pulp, mixed together with a fizzing bottle of water, stirred with a jagged wooden stick.

I tasted my drink first. It was thirst quenching and refreshing, making me tingle me the way down to my stomach and cooling my dehydrated lips.

"Are you…homeless Jake?" I couldn't help but ask. It'd been bugging at me ever since we found the tent.

He grinned and squeezed more fruit "Would you mind if I was?"

"No." I croaked." I just…hate to think of you sleeping out here alone every night."

He continued stirring his cup, adding a sachet of something with a swift shake before I could see what it was. "Good of you to think of me, but I think I can take care of myself" There was no anger in his tone, just pure confidence.

He gulped on his drink, emptying his plastic cup then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

I looked around at the hanging clothes and the systematic way he'd placed everything in each well ordered corner of the tent, how everything was symmetrical down to the way he aligned his various shoes.

There were wood carving dotted around the tent. Maybe made from oak or sandalwood. There was one that my eyes always reverted back to with an unspoken question on my lips. It was in the shape of a female. Not a woman, but a girl my age, with spread wings and a promising look of refinement. Her long dress was bandaged around her waist like a belt of protection; her shapely legs were in some mid dance step or twirl. Her arms were raised above her head and arched as a graceful heart.

"Did you make that?" I pointed.

He looked over at the wooden statue and nodded briefly, then glanced at me to see my reaction. As if he assumed I was going to find it improbable.

"So…who is it?" I asked cautiously, but with too much curiosity to bite my tongue.

"Just someone I imagined," He took a hold of it and rubbed his thumb along the wings, His admiring gaze signifying it meant more to him than he was probably revealing to even himself.

"Here." He placed it in front of me. "I want you have it."

"No I couldn't." I gasped. "You made it."

"That's why I want you to have it." He smiled. But the kind that didn't even reach the eyes.

"Something to remember me by."

I wanted to tell him I was going to need it to remember him when I was gone, but took it anyway.

"Thanks," I muttered, unsure what else to say and how to hide my sudden nerves. He was staring at me in a way that said his gift was more than a parting gesture, that he was marking me in some way. Sealing a deal. Making absolute sure that I knew it.

"I made this one for you." He placed a hand in his pocket and picked out a carved ring, thinly sliced with an inlay of aqua marine coloured gems that reminded me of his eyes.

"I found the stones," he said. "Someone left a pile of them on gravestone at the cemetery."

"You stole them?" I asked, now not so touched.

"I don't think they planned on wearing them." He joked.

"But they might have meant something Jake. They might have symbolised something."

He looked away as if to whisper something to someone behind him, or as if he'd expected the dead person he had stolen from to appear and make him eat grit and stones.

"Here, try it," he said, handing it to me, his face a changed mask of nothing.

It fit neatly around my middle finger. As if he had known exactly what size to carve it. I chose not to complain. It was the thought that had to count.

"It's…"

He waited for me to finish with stagnant eyes.

"…Just how I like it."

He blinked and peered down, seeming disappointed.

I kissed him on the cheek before I could change my mind. It must have startled him. He actually jerked his head and looked speechless.

"That's for everything," I mumbled with a fidgety smile.

For a moment he looked ready to say something. Maybe include me in something important. But he broke away from my smouldering gaze to clap his hands and rub them together. "How about another drink?" He seemed uncomfortable, turning to gather his clothes and heap them into a neater pile.

"I'm ok," I told him. Though I knew he wasn't listening. "Can I ask you something?" I was no longer able to keep inside what was eating at me.

There was a long abbreviated silence.

"You wanna know how I got like this right?" He asked, still busying himself with his dirty laundry.

It took a long moment for me to reply with a yes, feeling ashamed to be asking him such a personal question.

"My folks got divorced" He began quietly.

"I moved from Milwaukee to live with my aunt." He began to sift through the things on his sleeping bag.

"She croaked and so the house got repossessed. I've chosen to stay out here until I can figure out what to do next."

He said it all like a pre-written speech, with no feelings attached.

"Why don't you contact your parents'? They must be worried about you."

He took his t-shirt off to change, replacing it with the shirt that had gold buttons on the sleeves with the letter J. I tried to look away as he undressed himself, but failed in the attempt.

"My mom's a heroin addict." He spat. "My dad hasn't given me the time of day since I was born. Besides, I'd rather sleep on some park bench than see either one of them again."

He kept his head down, pretending to ties the lace of his sneakers.

"I'm sorry Jake," I said, feebly.

"I'm happy this way," he said tight lipped. "No one bothers me, tells me how to live. I'm my own boss and that's the way I like it."

I watched him untie his other lace to tie it again.

"Don't you get…lonely out here by yourself?" It was a dumb question to ask.

"Why? Are you offering to stay with me?" He asked, suppressing a slur in his delectable tone.

"No." I flustered, biting my lip.

"Then there's no need to ask the question?" He smiled, sitting back down beside me so that I could hear his erratic heartbeat.

"Still hungry?" He asked, his voice taking on a deep raucous sound, as if he was speaking under his breath, but was easy for me to hear.

"I have dinner waiting later," I said, dully

"You don't sound that excited about dinner" He mocked, saying 'dinner' like it was with a member of royalty.

"Is it that obvious?" I asked, trying not to peer over at him. and see the same look in his eyes that told me he was expecting me melt like an ice cube.

I could see him nod sympathetically.

"Why don't you give dinner tonight a miss too? We'll go for a bite to eat now then grab something later."

I must have had 'How will you afford it' written all over my face.

"It's okay" He smiled assuring me. "I have cash to spare"

"I wouldn't want to make things worse for you. Let's just go for lunch," I jabbered.

He stood and reached out his hand to me.

"Let's go." He grinned.

"I'm taking you out on a date."


	14. Chapter 11-

Chapter Nine

I followed Jake onto an open road that was dead as a mortuary. The sidewalks were uneven and lined with sparse confectionary stores, a goldsmith and a hair salon, with only one blue haired middle-aged woman sat perched on a stool getting her hair done.

There was a diner next door to it, pink and Cadillac looking with pointed signs and a curving roof. The name 'Sully's' flashed with the 'u' missing.

Jake opened the door for me. It had a square window and frill curtains in matching white and pink. The opening times were written besides huge puckered lips.

I let Jake walk ahead of me once we were inside. Everyone turned to look as we made our way to a table in the corner. It didn't keep onlookers from staring and whispering pretty audibly.

The booth had a table covered with a plastic coated cloth, blue and out of place among the dolly pink. Even the salt and pepper shakers were wearing cowboy hats. The menus were a pair of blue tassel cowboy boots.

"I told you." Jake cringed, looking at the menu then putting it down to look at me.

"I like it." I wasn't lying. It was quirky, full of loony characters and butterball town's folk.

There were a group of giggling girls at a table to our left, having some sort of food fight with a red haired boy named Jason. I knew from the amount of times it was screamed across the room. At the front, beside the bar, two boys kicked at the jukebox, another two were in headlock, and a waitress who looked to be still in elementary school ran out of the kitchen, hitting them both with a wet dish cloth.

"It's never dull that's for sure," Jake said, slipping out of his torn denim jacket.

"Do you come here often?"

"No," he said, too quickly. "I was desperate," He smirked. "As you know"

I twirled my hair and tried not to blush as I so often did these days.

A waitress with hair in a sky-scraping beehive came over to the table. Her pale blue uniform was too itty bitty, and pinching her not so modest parts above the neckline of her corset fitted waist. Her red buckle belt looked set to ping at any moment.

Jake didn't notice. He kept his eyes firmly on me, where I could always see them, taking in my every emotion that must've slipped over my face to make him smile like it was entertaining.

I ordered the saddleback special and a cream soda. Jake asked for the same, then handed her the menus. She chewed on her gum and asked if anything else was needed. A ploy, I think, to make Jake look at her. When he didn't, she walked away, clipping her kitten heels on the buffered floor and wriggling her behind as an added benefit for the many hoots and call over the gobbling sounds of hungry patrons.

Jake lowered his head to open his mouth and speak to me, but my attention had re-directed itself to the opening of the doorway and the svelte, but brooding presence that walked effortlessly toward the bar to speak intimately to one of the waitresses.

The middle aged, too old to be giggling so much out in the open waitress, shied away from conversing way up-close as she slapped his arm playfully, keeping her hands comfortably at a reaching position throughout the whole course of lip to ear discussion. Her cheeks flushed, making her sallow completion looked more youthful, but still drooped like full pockets.

She served a drink without charging a dime, laughing along to what was muttered with barely open lips. The chaotic table of girls called out his name as if he was the world's biggest celebrity to grace the streets of Boringville.

Of course it was Edward. Who else could be such a chauvinistic ass and get away with it?

He hadn't seen me, thankfully, but I couldn't control the zealous beating of my heart, racing ahead of my held breath. I looked down to find my palms were sweaty. My hands trembled by their own accord. I placed them under my thighs and finally remembered to bring my attention back to Jake. But he was peering over at the other table, at Edward in particular, never once caring if he was caught rudely staring.

Luckily, the waitress arrived with our food, slamming the greasy hot plates and cold drinks onto the table. "Enjoy," she spluttered, chewing on her gum and leaving to approach another calling table.

I poked a fork in my cherry tomato. I had no intention of eating it though, not just yet, not while Edward lingered like an off-putting smell.

"Do you know that guy?" Jake asked, eating his meal like it was his last.

"He lives at the Manor." There was no reason to hide it.

His eyes narrowed at me as he took a long gulp from his can of soda.

"Is he your boyfriend?" He almost choked.

"What?" I almost choked on a piece of spinach. "No. He's not."

"An ex?" He raised a brow, his eyes impatient.

"No." I laughed nervously.

"Then why the glint?" he asked with a detached tone.

"Glint?" I was afraid something might have slipped from my mouth without me knowing.

"In your eyes," he said, like I was a dumb. "When he appeared just now?"

I didn't know what to say, so I didn't. I opened my can of soda and took a couple of pious gulps to fill the silence.

"I didn't mean to pry," he said, returning to his meal. "It's your business who you're attracted to."

"I'm…" I cringed. "I'm not attracted to him." The word "attracted" seemed to cut at my tongue. "Besides, he's my great aunt's son. That makes us related."

He raised a brow again.

"But we're not related by blood. It's through marriage."

"Fine." He shrugged, brushing off my uneasy response. "I'm just telling you what I see, that's all. Real cousin or not." He glanced back at Edward again. "You don't seem to be his only admirer." He sounded way too happy about that.

Edward had everyone's attention, even the male diners had gathered around the table. He was in the middle of arm wrestling one of them, winning plain and easy, and taking the fifty dollars from a fuming guy's fist and stuffed it into his front jeans pocket.

"He's kind of an ass," I said, a little too madly. "I think the only admiration he has is for himself."

"You sound jilted."

"No. Just forewarned."

"His loss." He drank his soda and slammed down the hollow can.

"I know." I kicked myself for saying it out loud, twice more when I snuck another peek at Edward's table , only to see him grinning up at a girl with vibrant red bouncing curls, and a tank top with sexy jean shorts. The smile was confirmed as having a worse affect than his voice. It was charming, the kind that showed you he was enjoying your company and listening to your every word like he appreciated you just as much.

I wasn't sure if I was experiencing some crazy attraction or a spell holding me captive to the unattainable, and just when I thought I had it all figured out, he spotted me from the corner of his eye. His smile slowly faded, turning into a vacant stare, a fearful haunt of beautiful, but angry eyes. But something was different this time. They held a smidge of interest to watch me longer than necessary, just the way he did at the in the bathroom.

One of the blonde girls followed his gaze. I turned before I was caught smouldering like I had a pathetic high school crush.

"We can go now if you like?" Jake had all but finished his meal. Mine lay mostly untouched.

"If you're ready."

"You've hardly touched your food." He nodded at my full plate.

"I've lost my appetite. I'll have it to go."

He asked a waitress to doggy bag my meal like an infant, then stood to put on his jacket.

I took the six dollars from my purse that I owed and placed it on the table, refusing to let him pay for me. He didn't put up much of a fight.

When the waitress returned with my food, he sounded in just as big of a hurry to leave —if that was possible. He handed me the bag. He didn't seem annoyed, just unable to keep still.

I stood and placed a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry Jake. I'm just not feeling myself right now. I must've caught something." My excuse was even pathetic.

He smiled, the kind that was full of pity. "As long as it doesn't catch you first, I think you've a chance," he added, losing the apish smile.


	15. Chapter 12-

I wasn't sure what that meant. Maybe it was his way of insinuating my feelings for Edward. I followed him to the doorway, feeling a thousand eyes on me all at once as the room fell deftly quiet for first time since we arrived.  
Every cough, twitch and drop of utensils was clearly audible over the sound of Billy Holiday playing from the jukebox. When I turned back to glance from the doorway, it was the dirty blonde I hadn't noticed earlier that monitored me with a hate filled scowl. Rosalie. Her eyes shone with a surmountable jealousy that wasn't called for, since Edward hated my guts.

Jake walked me back to the Manor at a physical distance. I thumbed my tongue, thinking of something useful to say, scanning my brain for something intelligible to break the ice. But it seemed made of something indestructible and between us. I could even imagine it as a glade shutting down and causing a wedge that perforated the asphalt. We had both changed in the short hours we'd been together. Once we were bonding, and now neither of us could say a word about the evening.  
He didn't try to speak and I didn't try to make him. I kept my mouth zipped as I kept down every "sorry".

He wrote down his cell number for me though, on a napkin with a rodeo riding a bucking horse. It was something I planned on keeping as a souvenir.  
Although it was obvious he resented my reaction at the diner, it was comforting to know he might have still wanted to see me. But he must've taken my lack of a response as a different kind of hint that wasn't intended, and walked away from me before I could explain or leave him with a better judgement to my sudden change.  
I was a puzzle to even myself. I couldn't figure out what was happening to me and why my feelings were opposing my thoughts, or why I was drawn so steadily to….something inexplicably wrong.

Edward was bad news and a glorified egomaniac, but it didn't keep me from thinking about every minimal thing he'd ever said to me, or the way he looked at me for too long at the diner. If my mind had been any clearer I would've dismissed the look in his eyes for something more platonic. Deceivable. Yet something in his eyes had been far from dishonest. They were vulnerable and open for me to receive some sort of signal. I just couldn't bring myself to see it. I feared the danger that was strictly attached, which was what he was probably trying to make me see as well anyway.  
I tried not to let it bug me as I busied myself putting away the rest of my luggage. I made a quick call to Jared and updated him on my stay—minus the boy trouble, then stepped onto the balcony to admire the starry night sky. A knock at my door minutes later disrupted my much-needed alone time. I opened it to find Bree standing in the hallway in just her nightie, holding a bowl of cheesy puffs and a box of unopened chocolates.

"Thought I would see if you wanted to share these with me." She grinned, showing me the tops of her pinky-white gums.  
She gave the cheesy puffs a mild shake. I wasn't in the mood for talking, not even to myself, but I couldn't turn down a face that was so happy to see me. Especially when there were so few of them around to make amends for how I was feeling.

I let her in my room—the room that had become my prettier hole to harbour my downbeat optimism. I closed the door as she skipped inside and leaped onto my bed, opened the bag of cheesy puffs and crammed a handful into her mouth, leaving orange crumbs on my bed that Esme would have to needlessly vacuum. I chose not to complain.

"My favorite." Orange powder poofed from between her lips. She handed me the bag. I did the same and slipped my shoes off. Maybe Bree could answer the questions still giving me a headache.

"Did you find out anything about the chest we found in the attic? Who it belongs to?"

She nodded while picking at a front tooth. "It's my Aunt Tanya's. She owns the chest."

"Why's it here?" The chest was no piece of furniture.

"I think she's moving home," she said as she munched on. "Mother's keeping it till she gets settled."

I guess it was a reasonable answer, but still arguable.

"There seems to be a book on witchcraft in the study?" I hurried out. She wasn't listening. "Witchcraft," I said much louder.

She looked at me perplexed, licking at her orange encrusted fingers.

"It was within the bookshelf?"  
She shrugged. "Beats me. It's probably my aunts too. She's Wiccan."  
"Wiccan?" Didn't that mean a witch? "Why?"  
"She says it's a self-healing belief system...yadayadyda..."  
"So she casts spells?" I was afraid to say it.  
"Nothing bad. It's all positive with good intentions. Although mother says she's deluded and lonely."  
If it was to do good, why did she have a book on ritualistic summoning? Images of beasts and goblin like creatures placing a child into a smoulder of fire?  
"What do you think?" I asked, getting edgy with the topic.  
"I think she's whacko, but she pays well when she visits."  
"Is she planning to visit anytime soon?" I somehow managed to control the nerves in my voice.  
"She likes to surprise you."  
Great, surprise witch gatherings.

"Are you liking it here," Bree asked, changing the subject and looking at me like an interested pupil. She added another handful of orange puffs into her small, but loud mouth.  
"It's been ok so far," I admitted. "I haven't really had the chance to do all that much." I lied. "I'm hoping to try a little more in the next few days." I licked my orange crusted fingers clean, only to coat them again.

"Don't worry. I'll take you into Old Town tomorrow. And The Apple Blossom Festival's here next week. You're going to love it." She clapped her hands. "They have a street parade and everything! They'll be crowning the new Apple Blossom Queen. I'm too young to qualify as an entry. But who cares?" She shrugged like she did.  
"You have to come," she screeched. "Everyone will be there. It's celebrated every year, and began in…" She thought about it for some time. "1924," she finished with googly-eyed amazement. "The place goes nuts!"  
Much like that I guessed.  
"The festival is really important," she added without pausing for breath and licking the crumbs from her lips.  
I remained silent. I was having detail overload, too much of it was ramming into by brain with loud Bree as the narrative.  
She began to tear at the clear film from around the box of chocolates like a mad woman.  
"Sounds cool," I said in my most enthusiastic voice. "I never knew the place held so much history. It would be great to learn more about it."  
"The land was almost destroyed during the Civic War," Bree said. Maybe she meant Civil War. "But it's managed to stay alive. Barely." She giggled. "They don't call this place sleepy town for nothing."  
They didn't call me sleepy head for nothing either, I thought with a yawn.

Standing on the edge of a cliff top, I look down at the distant turmoil of waves crashing against the rocks. The wind blew with a fierce, disrupting my balance.  
"Don't!" cried a voice behind me "You don't have to do this!" "I have to stop it from happening again!"  
"But I need you here, with me."  
"What if fail at this? What if I lose you and everything else?"  
"I'll save you from them. Even from myself."  
I turned. "Should I be afraid of you Edward?"  
"I'll never hurt you. I'll keep you protected, both of you." He held out his hand. "You have to trust me."  
I reached out, but he faded and flickered. No sound escaped his mouth.  
The sky bled crimson, heating until it boiled into ripples of spewing liquid that dripped like acid to my skin, burning my flesh and revealing the white of my bones. I screamed and convulsed. The ground separated.  
I slipped through the gap, but managed to grip a hold of the edge, fighting to keep myself above a river of black. It coiled around me as I screamed for help. Edward appeared. He held out his hand again and I grabbed it. I held on as tightly as I could, waiting for him to catapult me back onto even ground. But he smirked and let go, watching me fall into the pit of nothing but darkness and delirious screams.  
I woke in a hot sweat, trembling as I tried to erase the images of the dream running through my head like a slideshow in slow-motion, making me relive each moment, each feeling, the guilt, the sorrow, confusion, emptiness too hollow.  
I ran to the bathroom to vomit and lay limp on the cold tiles, yearning for arms to hold me and rock me back to sleep.  
I recalled how Edward had watched me plunge to what seemed like my death. He looked so happy and sad in the same instance. I found it hard to believe he could be so heartless and potentially harmful. Somewhere behind his hardened exterior, I sensed there was a heart as lonely and broken as mine.  
Somehow, I'd managed to get to sleep after what I'd seen and learned today. But ever since I got back from the cemetery, I felt watched. I even wondered if the cold draft really was a sign that the Manor was haunted_._  
Could Arina be roaming the halls at night in search of Alistair?  
I'd read cold drafts were a sign of wandering spirits. I'd read some of them lingered on the Earth plane if they had something unfinished.  
What could Arina want? Why couldn't she just be with Alistair and rest in peace?  
I shook my head. I was getting carried away again. The manor wasn't haunted. It was most likely Bree in the attic, wearing a blonde wig she'd found among the Cullen's belongings.  
I wasn't going to ask and risk them finding out I had issues long before I arrived. And maybe my anxiety at being in a new place was making me imagine what I wanted. Maybe I was searching for an excuse to leave. Yet it still didn't explain why only _I _felt the draft.  
It wasn't that cold in the bathroom, but the same clinging presence from last night began to crowd me, making my skin feel stretched.  
I had to get away. I couldn't face seeing Arina up close.  
I couldn't go back to bed yet, so I tiptoed down the creaky stairs and slipped into the kitchen to open the refrigerator and pull out a jug of Esme's homemade lemonade. I was pouring myself a glass when I noticed smoke billowing outside the window. It was three in the morning. I hadn't expected anyone else to be awake.  
On closer inspection, someone was stood in the middle of the garden, throwing scraps of paper from a book into a metal cylinder that was alive with flames. It was difficult to make out who it was. I also failed to see it was a bad idea to pay the fire starter a visit. I was already in the garden and a few inches away, when I realized it was the last person I needed to see.  
Edward Cullen.  
Now that I was behind him, and he could perhaps sense me, I stepped closer to see what he was burning. There were words jumbled and scarcely readable as letters, more like shapes and twisted numbers.  
On one page, I thought I caught a glimpse of a face similar to mine, elaborately drawn with a dark mass of hair. There was also a crown of symbols with silver vines and swirls. A single tear had been drawn on the girl's cheek.  
I stepped closer and watched her hair crumple and disappear into a wrinkle of ash. It floated into my eyes. A tear trickled down my own cheek.  
"What are you doing here?" he muttered.  
Did he know it was me? Did he mean at the house or in the garden? I had a feeling he meant both.  
"I came downstairs to get a drink and saw the fire." I shivered from the cool night air and wiped the tear from my cheek.  
Edward glanced to the side of him, moving until he was standing opposite me on the other side of the cylinder. The flames hissed with the howl of the wind as he continued burning the pages from his book. From the minimal interactions we'd shared, it was clear he was going to be good at making me feel invisible.  
"No one forced you to come here," he said.  
Again, it seemed as if he was referring to my actual visit. I kept to the present. "I came because I wanted to."  
"Are you always so reckless?" he asked after what seemed like a time.  
"No."  
His eyes met mine. The hood of his jacket overshadowed their color, but I could just about see the intensity of gold from the reflection of light bouncing from the fire. It didn't warm the surrounding shape of his dark, penetrating eyes. They seemed just as driven to dislike me.  
The memory of his laughter in my dream after watching me plummet made me shudder. But it was just a dream. This Edward was craggy, emotionally detached, in a way I could understand since I was often like that myself, but he wasn't heartless. Not even close. I could tell. It was what I _could _read about him.  
I hugged myself and he looked down at the ring on my finger, the way the small rubies glistened under the moonlight. He then turned away, ending any interest that might have seeped into his mind for a few seconds by mistake.  
"What are you burning?" I dared ask.  
"Things."  
"Such as?"  
"My things."  
"Which are?"  
"Mine to burn."  
I gave up on trying to be civil. "Maybe next time you could try recycling."  
He turned his head to the side. Hiding a smirk?  
"So, are you always so...enigmatic?"  
Silence.  
"Do I irritate you or something?"  
Silence.  
"Have I offended you?"  
Another silence.  
"Because if—"  
"You should go," he said, not in a mean way. It was more like a soft command.  
With another glance my way, he continued to burn the remaining chapters of the book, words untold, but possibly memorized. I left him to it, recalling the tortured look in his eyes that had become imprinted to my memory, mirroring my hidden pain.


End file.
